A Game of Sith and Thrones
by Illuviar
Summary: One night you fall asleep in a hospital bed on Coruscant. Then you awake a dimension away. No Force or magic. Not even a bit of cybernetic enhancements to give you an edge. Just the body of a bastard prince, who lives on borrowed time. It's too bad for the locals that they got a Sith stripped from his arcane powers and thrown in the snake pit that is Westeros.
1. Prologue&Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**AN: Betaed by vyor on the Space Battles forums. Thank you very much!**

**A Song of Sith and Thrones**

**=ASOSAT=**

**Prologue: A new prince in the Red Keep**

**Red Keep**  
**King's Landing**

I stared at my "mother" and siblings, who were waiting me for breakfast. Or to break our fast as they said over here. From all the stunts my "favorite" ROB had pulled lately, this has to take the cake. She even did this for my own good you see. I needed vacation she told me.

So I awoke in King's Landing today. In the Royal suites of the Red Keep no less. Without the Force, any magic or cybernetic enhancements. Just a man, a growing teenager really.

I'll give her that, this new body is in incredible shape when you consider the more or less medieval setting, but still... I was one man stuck in the mad house that was Game of Thrones.

It could be worse I guess. At least I have a bit of time, no matter how borrowed it is. You see, now I am a golden haired prince. Supposedly the second born of King Robert. A year younger than the crowned ponce, who is seventeen by the way. And complete sadistic piece of shit.

That's him, right there! The bastard glaring daggers at me is my loving big brother Joff. It's been less than ten seconds since seeing him for the first time and I'm already planning his murder... After all, I have the memories of the teenager I possess, and those are more than enough to make up my mind.

Does that reflect poorly on myself or was it a consequence of the mad house I was dumped in, I may never know...

I shook my head and walked in, forcing something resembling a genuine smile. I gave a respectful nod to my mother and went for the free seat on her left. Naturally, Joff was sitting to her right. The place of most respect, though the little mad man deserved none. I just raised an eyebrow at my fuming big brother, being glad that my past self in this world hadn't spent too much time with him. As the second son, the prince in whose body I now resided, had spent nearly half the year at Storm's end, the Baratheon's ancestral seat of power, being groomed as the next lord of the Stromlands.

Let me tell you, that was a long shot. Not with my looks and questionable parentage. At least Prince Durran Baratheon had been somewhat competent and reasonably nice kid (for a Westeros noble) and didn't piss off the locals. However that was unlikely to matter too much. Not with his, now my obvious Lannister's looks.

On the other hand... Well I was back into somewhat decent snake pit. Thanks to my recent past as a Sith, it felt almost like home... Besides there were few bright spots in my new life. With a lot of strings attached. As one might expect... Unless I fucked up, I could rely on the support of the most powerful man in the realm after my "father" Robert. Yep. It's great, isn't it? Tywin Lannister being the one of the few people on this continent that I could reasonably trust... The fact that he and my father were constantly arguing, mainly by raven post about making me the heir of Casterly Rock and the Westerlands, and leaving my little brother Tommen to deal with the Stormlands worked to my advantage there. Too bad that my grandfather was in a dire need of a competent military commander if my memories of this world were correct.

That's another thing. Ever since awakening here, I was scrambling to remember as much from the show and the books as I could. I needed those memories to give me some advantage, though first I had to find out how close to the fiction back on Earth this world actually was. Acting on false information could get me killed. Or much worse. While I didn't believe that the local hacks were even close to Sith standards where torture was concerned, recovering after a session with the butchers in this world would be hard, probably impossible.

However all that was something to consider at a later time. First I had to survive breakfast with my oh so loving family...

I sat down and looked to my left, where Tommen was too busy devouring something that looked like a passable cake, to pay me much attention. In my opinion the kid had his priorities straight. Focusing on the food while mother and Joff were around was probably the safest proposition for him.

My eyes drifted over my little brother and a looked at Myrcella, who was grinning at me. The sight of my little sister, the only one of my siblings who Durran apparently loved ( he outright loathed Joff and barely tolerated Tommen, believing him to be a troublesome brat), brought a smile on my face. She was a cute kid. Innocent too, which was some kind of miracle considering our family.

"Cella..." I whispered my sister's name.

Oh, yeah. I obviously got the full package from merging with Durran. I loved my sister. There was that need to protect her. From nearly everything considering the world on which she had the misfortune to be born on. Princess or not.

Which immediately made my life much more difficult.

I glanced to my right. Cersei had a thoughtful expression on her face, while Joff was glaring at us with disdain. I was reasonably sure that he would shed no tears if all his siblings dropped dead right there and then. According to the memories of my "dear" brother, he would throw a party to celebrate our passing. He hated Durran with a passion, something obvious to anyone, except our loving mother.

Yeah. He needed to go. Soon.

"Mother, to what do we own the honor?" I asked.

Ever since Durran had turned fourteen, such family breakfasts were no longer an almost daily ritual. Cersei had been too busy doting on Joffrey, making him even bigger spoiled brat, while the prince I possessed, started spending a lot of time around Rently or Ser Barristan Selmy, who was his trainer. I had to suppress a frown. I should start thinking of Durran's past as my own before I slipped up. The last thing I needed was for someone to believe that I was bewitched or something.

Cersei interrupted my musings.

"The hand of the King had gotten sick all of a sudden," she informed us in a sweet tone.

Oh, shit. I thought I had more time to plot.

"That is tragic," I supplied in a neutral tone, while taking a warm loaf of bread and looked over the table for some butter.

"Indeed, Durran."

"What's the big deal?" scoffed Joff.

I rolled my eyes at him and even mother gave him a look that might have held the tiniest hint of disapproval.

"Who could become the next Hand of the King if the worst happens, the Seven forbid. That is the issue," I said, giving him something to think about and winning a nod of approval from Cersei.

While Joff was trying to make his two brain cells rub together, I speared a piece of yellow cheese with my fork and started chewing carefully. It was surprisingly good, though that was deceptive. As the part of the Royal family I was getting the best food there was in the Realm. What most people in Westeros had to eat, well better not think about that... Such a train of thoughts would have killed my appetite if thanks to my time as a Sith I hadn't become a mostly selfish bastard. Besides, soon enough the small folk would have much bigger problems...

"Grandfather of course!" exclaimed Joff.

I almost snickered. As if. I was well aware, as everyone who paid attention, that Robert wasn't too thrilled with the Lannisters having as much influence within King's Landing as things stood. Making Twin Lannister the Hand of the King, well that was going to happen when the seven hells froze over. Even if I didn't have some knowledge about a possible future, the logical choice at least in "father's" mind would be Eddard Stark.

The honorable north man. That poor sod would have no idea in what he would be getting himself in if he accepted the position. It was more likely than not that I would be one of the people plotting against him. If he was truly as honorable as the show and the common knowledge my Durran had about the man, he would be an enemy if, when the secret went out. After all, I wanted my head to remain on my shoulders. Preferably with a crown on it.

Crazy big brother notwithstanding, I had it too good to risk loosing all the power and security my position could give me even while Robert was still alive. Which reminded me. I needed to have a hear to heart conversation with mother. About regicide. I had no illusions how the King would react if the truth ever got out while he was still drawing breath. In such a case, my best bet would be either to flee to Essos or taking the Black. If I was really lucky that is.

I took a sip of water to clear my throat. No coffee or something like it. Damn...

"Unlikely, brother. If Jon Arryn doesn't recover, father's choice for his next Hand lies north," I stated with conviction.

My mother nodded absentmindedly. It was obviously that she was plotting something, though that was nothing new. She was always doing so.

"Eddard Stark!" she almost spat the name. "He would be troublesome!"

How interesting. One would think that she wouldn't be too pissed off with such a choice. Grandfather was clearly out for now as a contender for the position and speak whatever you will about Stark, but there were much worse choices for a Hand of the King. At least speaking from the point of view of our family.

"Perhaps," I agreed. "On the other hand, there are other people who we would like even less as the Hand of the King."

"There is something else..." Cersei trailed off. "Ever since you left for Storm's End last year, your father has been making noises about finding you and Joffrey wives."

"Ah. How interesting!" I exclaimed, adding just the right amount of false cheer in my voice.

It really didn't fool anyone, but Joff, who was pouting. Cella giggled at me while struggling with a piece of lemon cake and my mother even allowed herself a small, amused smile.

"Any idea who are the lucky ladies?" I asked. Though whoever had to marry Joff would be very unlucky gal if he lived long enough for such an occasion. Needless to say, that wasn't something I was willing to allow. Giving my brother chance to spawn wasn't good idea on so many levels...

"The Tyrell girl and one of the Starks..."

"Well, well... That's actually not too bad an idea," I thought aloud.

Cersei frowned at me, even though the reasoning should be obvious. The Lannisters and the Starks weren't best of friends, especially after Tywin's stunt with the previous royal family. Which reminded me. The Mountain needed to die in order to patch up relations with Dorne.

"I can see why father wants a marriage with the north. It's no secret the bad blood existing between the Lannisters and Starks. Then there is the Tyrell's ambitions to think about. Binding them to us would have many benefits."

Mace Tyrell, no to mention his mother, the Queen of the Roses. They wanted close ties with the ruling house. Preferably Margery to be the next Queen. That would give us a great access to the Reach. With its food, money and equally importantly armies... Besides, that would placate the Tyrells, making them less likely to try fucking up with us too much...

"So, how has it been around here? Anything too interesting you didn't write about?" I asked.

I wasn't up to speed with the more current events in King's Landing. I got dumped in Dorran's head last night, just after he came back from Storm's End.

Which was another can of worms. While, Rently liked me, he was far from thrilled that soon enough I was supposed to be replacing him as the Lord of the Stormlands. Technically it was about time, with both myself and Joff being of age for the past couple of years.

"Not really. I wrote you about everything of importance," Mother informed me.

That she did, sending me ravens at least weekly while I was away from the snake pit.

After the rest of breakfast, which was rather unpleasant, with Joff whining about the chance of marrying a northern gal, I had to promise Cella that we would play later. However, first I needed to speak with Cersei. Privately.

**=ASOSAT=**

**Queen's Chambers  
Red Keep  
King's Landing**

Eventually Joff went to torture something or someone, leaving me to have that personal conversation with mother. We retreated to her private chambers, which were rather well furnished, when you take into account the general tech level of Westeros. Though the luxury of even the Royal quarters within the Red Keep couldn't make up for the lost high tech comforts someone from a world like twenty first century Earth, not to mention the SW galaxy, would take for granted.

We went deep within Cersei's sanctuary after she chased out her serving girls. Once we were reasonably sure of our privacy, I turned towards my mother and frowned. This was going to be one unpleasant conversation.

Before broaching the subject of murder and treason, I walked around, making looking for eavesdroppers and hidden passages where someone could be hiding. Cersei noticed my actions and looked confused for a moment, before figuring out what I was doing and pointing me in the right direction. There was no one skulking around in either of the three secret passages leading out of the Queen's chambers.

"What is so important that you take such precautions, my son? While I'm glad you are taking the Game seriously enough, I can't help, but wonder what have you go to such lengths to secure a private conversation."

"Oh, I'm sure you know well enough, mother," I almost sneered at her, though I was able to barely keep my expression and voice neutral. "I know," I declared.

My only answer was a raised eyebrow.

"Who is my real father. And my siblings'..."

Those words got me a reaction. Oh, they did.

Cersei blanched and looked wildly around us. The shocked look on her face, the way she became deathly pale. But in the end, it was her eyes which told me the truth. Yeah... I got the confirmation I needed in order to proceed planning murder.

"We need to have a looong conversation, mother..." I smiled at her.

If the way her eyes widened was anything to go by, she wasn't reassured by my expression.

"_The morning Jon Arryn died, the Game of Thrones changed. A new player was added, shattering all expectations for the future. Only two things were sure as far as I was concerned. Westeros would drown in rivers of blood. And my Prince would sit on the Iron Throne!"_

**\- Ser Marrek Storm, Sworn Shield of Prince Durran Baratheo**n

_"__It's a small thing. Really. I didn't think that Jon Arryn knew the truth. Even if he did, it died with him. I truly believed that. Yet, in the end, it simply didn't matter. Some of us thought that he died of sickness. Others, that he was poisoned. The truth, well it was irrelevant. He was dead. The King needed a new Hand... We were to prepare for a journey to the North._

_Winterfell... That's where everything changed..._"

**\- Ser Jamie Lannister, Kingsguard**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Wicked tidings in the North**

**Part 1**

**=Eddard=**

**Lord's quarters  
Winterfell**

"They will be here tomorrow. In few days at the latest," he drew comfort from the familiar voice of his wife.

Ned looked up from the sheet of parchment he was reading and smiled at Catelyn. One she didn't return. He frowned seeing the worry etched on her face, which even after all those years was still stunning.

"You still haven't given me an answer, Ned."

The Warden of the North looked sadly at his wife. This time, no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't give her what she wanted. Oh, when the King arrives, he would make the effort to persuade his old friend to change his mind, yet he wasn't hopeful.

"Robert needs my help..." Ned trailed off.

Car scowled at him.

"What about us? The children? The North?" she shook her head in exasperation.

Ned's expression cracked into a small smile. He was fond of the moments when his wife didn't play the role of the proper Southern Lady.

"I'll speak with Robert when he get's here. I'll do my best to persuade him to seek a Hand elsewhere. However we both know if he is set up on me as his choice, there isn't much we could do about it. One can't really decline such a 'honor'..." as if anyone knows the meaning of the word in King's Landing was left unsaid.

"There is something else, isn't it?" asked Car.

Ned nodded. His eyes came back to a small piece of parchment he had received few days ago. Apparently Robert had a swell idea while on the route. It was certainly something to think about.  
He took up the parchment, stood up and brought it to his wife for examination. Cat looked at him with demure expression before reading the contents.

"Well, this is unexpected..." she muttered quietly.  
"Robert does have two sons who need marrying off," Ned deadpanned.

"Everyone in the realm who has a suitable daughter would be after the Princes," stated Cat.

"What do you thing about the proposal?" asked Ned. When Southern politics were concerned, Cat's advice was priceless.

"On the face of it, it's great. Sansa is going to be either Queen or the Lady of Storm's End. Such a marriage should do something about the bad blood between and the Lannisters..."

"My daughter and a grandson of Twin Lannister!" grumbled Ned. He knew that such a match would do wonders for his House and the North, politically speaking. Despite that, he couldn't help it but to feel conflicted.

Joffrey and Durran Baratheon. The Crowned Prince and the future Lord of Storm's End. If there was any truth to the rumors, one was a decent sort. For a southern noble kid. The other, well there wasn't much told about Joffrey beyond what one would expect. If Ned was a different, less honorable man, that in itself would have been an alarm bell. In the end, playing the Game and seeing multiple meanings to everything men said and did, it simply wasn't in his nature. For better or worse, Eddard Stark was a honorable man. Probably the most honorable in the all Seven Kingdoms.

It was too bad, that Honor alone wasn't good enough to protect one and his family in Westeros...

**=ASOSAT=**

**=Marrik=**

**Royal column  
Near Winterfell**

The knight patted his horse's neck in sympathy. The poor beast was a bit disgruntled at having to cart his heavy bulk across the realm and wasn't particularly shy about showing its displeasure. Being moving at the ponderous speed dictated by the Queen's house on wheels wasn't making it much better either. By now everyone's tempers were fraying.

The only saving grace of the whole mess, was that they were almost at their destination.

Marrik looked right, where the man to whom he had sworn both his life and future rode a midnight black warhorse. Durran was somewhat different ever since Jon Arryn's passing. The boy, nay, young man, had gotten out of his shell. Where before the prince had been content with his lot in life, which granted, didn't get much better in this world, now he looked ready to play the Great Game. Something had stroked the flames of ambition in his Lord's belly, and whoever or whatever it was, Marrik would be forever grateful for the change.

Because, he himself was an ambitious man. As a bastard born to one of the minor Stormlords, he used to see a pretty bleak future for himself. Once upon a time, to be a somewhat decent Man-at-Arms appeared to be a great ambition. It was unlikely for a bastard like himself to achieve much better in life.

Nevertheless, three years ago, everything changed. He had been a common soldier, one amongst many, who were chosen to accompany the young prince while he had went out bandit hunting. There was a particularly nasty band of brigands, all of whom appeared to be former soldiers who had fallen out of favor and turned to what they knew best to make a living.

That didn't stand well with either Lord Renly, the King's brother, or the boy he was training as the next Lord of Storm's End.

They had tracked the bandits to a secluded valley, where the cutthroats were slaughtered to a man after a short but vicious battle. On that day, the young prince saw something in Marrik, who had distinguished himself during the fight. He was knighted by Durran on the blood soaked battlefield. On that day he was allowed to dream again.

That was only the beginning for Marrik. An year later, he took part in a tournament at Storm's End, which had one purpose. To select a personal Knight for the prince. It was on Durran's nameday, when Marrik fought with an ambition fueled vigor, emerging victorious after clashing with the cream of the Stormlands Knights. On that day he had become the Sworn Shield of Prince Durran Baratheon.

It was a high post, giving him thew boldness to dream even higher. All because a boy saw something within him. And now, his liege Lord appeared to be aiming even higher. Marrik grinned under his helmet. If he was not mistaken, Durran aimed at the crown. Something he couldn't help but approve. He shuddered to think what would happened if Joffrey actually got the Crown. No one wanted another mad King cooling his ass on the Iron Throne.

Marrik gave a small nod to Durran who returned it.

The Knight rather liked this new face his master was unveiling as of late. While he had been more than content to serve the Lord of Storm's End and the Warden of the Stormlands, Marrik simply couldn't help it. It was in his nature to be ambitious, and while he wouldn't betray the man to whom he owed everything, he was glad that Durran was aiming at the highest prize there was in Westeros. With him at his side.

His Prince would sit on the Iron Throne. No matter how much blood must be spilled before that could be achieved.

**=ASOSAT=**

**=Jon Snow=**

**Courtyard  
Winterfell**

Jon stood behind his father and siblings, with Theon Greyjoy, while they were waiting for the Kings procession. He had to suppress a bout of laughter, when little Arya made herself present. With a helmet on her head. The little spitfire barely made it too, appearing moments before the King's men. Nevertheless, their father had just enough time to get the helmet away from Arya and shoo her to her place, which she took moments before the first riders entered the courtyard.

The procession was led by the Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy, followed by the two elder princes of the realm. Right beyond the royals rode two men, clad head to toe with armor. One wore jet black mail, adorned with a helmet shaped like the head of a snarling dog. The other, who was a bit shorter but broader, was clad in plate covered by tabard in the Baratheon colors.

The princes themselves couldn't be more different either. While the one who rode in first, who must have been Joffrey, looked like a lad of no more than fifteen, looked like a typical Southern noble – re-splendid in his red leather clothes and crimson cloak. His younger brother on the other hand, came in clad in armor, which was similar to that worn by the Kingsguard, though dark gray in color. He had a cloak too, made by darker than black furs and leather.

It was clear who of the two princes cut the more memorable and menacing figure.

Besides, it wasn't the younger prince the one who was smirking at his sister Sansa, who was undoubtedly making doe eyes at the ponce in Lannister crimson. He loved that girl, but she had her head in the clouds, living in some kind of make believe world. The reality was far different than what the stories told them. Even a bastard as himself knew that.

He only hoped that Sansa would learn before it was too late.

After the first riders, a great carriage was brought in by a bunch of poor beasties, who looked grateful that the journey from King's Landing was over for the moment. Then they all had to kneel for the King's arrival.

Soon enough it would be time for him to make himself scarce in order to avoid Lady Catelyn's ire.

King Robert was big. There were no two ways around it. When he came up to his father, Jon feared and accident for few moments, before those two started laughing like maniacs and hugged each other.

In the end, there was an accident. It just wasn't between Eddard and the King. It was between Robert and his Queen. The King wanted to visit the crypts, where the woman he loved and started a war over, was laid to rest. Which understandably didn't make the Queen particularly happy...

Jon winced at that display. Suddenly going to the wall sounded better in his mind. It was nothing in comparison to dealing with such stuff for a living.

Of course, Arya couldn't keep herself out of trouble. She just had to get herself into a mess. Just after Eddard led the King to the crypts, she had to open her mouth.

"Where is the Imp?" she asked just loud enough for the Queen to hear. And her younger son, who had dismounted and came to her side, while everyone had their attention on the King.

The Queen frowned and looked around, before her son whispered something. She shrugged her shoulders, smiled and returned her attention to the Starks. The prince made his way to his brother told him something and went to talk with one of the Kingsguard, who had an uncanny resemblance with the Queen herself.

Jon stared at the man. So that was the infamous Jamie Lannister, the Kingslayer.

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 2**

**=Durran=**

**Winter Town  
Winterfell**

That might be a new record for my uncle. We just arrived at Winterfell, and before we could even greet our hosts, Tyrion had already made himself scarce. His absence almost caused a nice, juicy scene, which would have been a god send for the paparazzi if their kind was invented in this world. Who knew, there were a few benefits to being stuck in a hellhole, which was the poster child for everything that was wrong during the Dark Ages and then some.

Nevertheless, few minutes after arriving, I already had to do some damage control. A few "wise" words to Cersei and she put a fake smile on her face, before turning towards our hosts and greeting them properly. Meanwhile I had to quietly growl to Joff to stop being a royal prick and act like the Crown Prince he was supposed to be. At least that went well. After more than a month of mother working on his attitude, the sadistic little bastard actually listened to my advice, smirked and went to greet the locals.

I knew that if he ever ascended to the Throne I would be paying for the way I was doing my best to keep him muzzled in public, though that wasn't particularly big concern for me. Unless everything went straight to the Seven hells, my dear, undeparted brother wouldn't be sitting his royal posterior on any Thrones.

However now wasn't the time for such a pleasant thoughts. I had a bunch of Starks to greet before heading with my "uncle" Jamie to retrieve Tyrion from the local brothel.

Ah, the Starks. Eddard Stark sure looked like a carbon copy of a rather famous actor. If said actor was half-giant or something similar. He was nearly two meters tall and looked quite impressive in his Lordly get up. I would be greeting him some time later. The reason for that was made obvious to anyone watching. Before anyone but Robert or my mother could greet him, the King had Lord Stark showing him the way towards the Crypts.

As you can imagine, this stunt pulled by our beloved King was nothing less than a public snub at the Queen, even if it wasn't planned as such. Lady Stark had a painted expression on her face after seeing how a simple meet and greet almost became complete train wreck in the span of moments. However, that didn't stop her from smiling and greeting us properly. The good news was that, despite Robert's faux pass, with both Cersei and Joff behaving, any further embarrassments were avoided. At least until we see what my uncle was up to...

"Lady Stark," I smiled at our hostess, giving her a proper bow and kissing her hand.

"My Prince," she curtsied.

It went that way with the rest of the family. All very proper and boring. The only thing I really learned was that Sansa Stark was an airhead who was apparently in love with the false image of Joff and the possibility of being a Queen. It was amusing to see that Westeros had discovered the concept of fan-girls...

I shook my head, clearing it from the thoughts of our reception by our hosts and returned to the present. I was walking through the town surrounding Winterfell with Jamie and Marrek, in search of Tyrion. To our surprise he wasn't in the first brothel we hit. Which was amusing by itself. I had been left with the strange impression that there had been only one whore house in the whole Winterfell, but that was apparently wrong. Who knew, the northmen knew how to party!

Jaime glanced at me with a frown which was almost a pout.

"It's like you don't trust me, to take care of your uncle Tyrion..." he muttered aloud.

I smirked.

"What gave you that idea, uncle Jamie?" I asked. Of course I didn't trust him or my mother. Or almost anyone on the damn continent for that matter. Marrek was one of the few possible exceptions. He was competent, appeared to be one of my men, though he was ambitious. Which in turn, while useful was a warning light in my head.

"Oh, I don't know. All the shenanigans you've been up to lately..."

"I have no idea what you are talking about. I'm just little old unassuming me!" I deadpanned.

Marrek snorted at that comment. He knew better. After all, my sworn knight was the go to man for part of my schemes within King's Landing...

"Well, this appears to be the correct place," Jamie snorted.

Moans and grunts could be clearly heard coming from a row of single floor stone buildings.

"I just hope that we are at the right brothel this time," I grumbled.

"Oh, I don't know..." Marrek smirked. "You liked what you saw at the last one."

"Can you blame me? I haven't been laid ever since leaving Storm's End," I shrugged. When consider my time spent in the last dimension, the period becomes much longer...

"He's your brother, uncle. By all means find him!" I theatrically waved for Jaime to proceed. He rolled his eyes and started going from door to door looking for Tyrion. In the process he caused some grumbling, the odd shout of protest and had to deftly dodge few thrown apples and even an empty metal bow.

The show continued for couple of minutes, until Jaime opened another door and instead of just glancing inside he walked in. Jackpot. Or a northern whore who had uncanny resemblance to Cersei...

"Don't get up," we heard Jaime say.

"Milord..." a husky female voice answered him.

I shook my head and went inside, leaving Marrek to make some arrangements. I glanced within the room, which was rather large and well furnished. Tyrion was laying on a rather big bet next to the far wall. A naked whore with nice assets which were hidden by her long hair was on the bed next to him.

"Nephew! This is unexpected..." he glared at us. "Do I have to explain to either of you what a closed whorehouse door means?"

"I'm sure you've forgotten more on this subject that both of us ever knew..." I snorted at my younger uncle.

"Our sister requires your attention."

"She has strange tastes..." Tyrion trailed off.

I rolled my eyes at their antics.

"Your absence was noticed uncle," I stated coldly. "I don't appreciate doing damage control because you couldn't keep it in your pants for half hour longer!" I glared at Tyrion.

He just shrugged and looked at the woman spawned on the bed next to him.

"Who could resist this?" he asked pointing at her.

"You will be on the feast the Starks are throwing in the King's honor tonight," I almost growled at my uncle.

Jaime shook his head and went to nearby table where he got himself a mug of ale.

"Tyrion, please don't leave me alone with those people!" he tried another angle of attack.

"Which ones? The locals or the imbeciles we brought all the way from King' Landing?" I quipped.

Tyrion hugged the girl with one hand and smirked at us.

"I've already started feasting!"

"We thought that this might be your answer," I snorted at Tyrion. "Marrek, bring the ladies in. As for you, I want you reasonably sober for tonight's torture, I mean feast..."

My knight brought four more girls inside, who piled on the bed with Tyrion.

"Durran! You know how to make your point!" shouted my uncle under a pile of soft flesh.

After we were outside I locked eyes with Marrek.

"Why me, damn it all to hell?!" I asked no one in particular.

Ever since I was dumped here, a huge part of my time had been taken by cleaning my family's messes. With every passing day, killing most of them was becoming more and more appealing.

**=ASOSAT=**

**Courtyard  
Winterfell**

I shouldn't be surprised. Not at all. Our little chat with Tyrion was for naught, so soon after the Feast started I excused myself for a moment and went out searching for the little menace, with Marrek trailing after me like a shadow.

To my surprise, I found my uncle in the courtyard. Speaking with Jon Snow of all people. I grinned and headed their way.

"I'm preparing for a night with your family!" Tyrion said and took a long swing from a wineskin filled with the Gods know what.

"That's good to know!" I exclaimed cheerfully.

"Durran, you wound me my boy. Do you have so little faith in me? I told you I'll be there!"

"Uh huh," I deadpanned. I turned my attention to the teen with whom my uncle was chatting. "You must be Jon. Why didn't we see you at the feast?" I asked though I already knew the answer.

"Lady Stark decided that the Royal family might be offended if they saw a bastard at the feast," he grunted. Not a happy puppy.

I snorted. There were a lot of bastards on the feast, though no one could know about four of us for the time being. I nodded my head towards my Sworn Shield.

"So is he, but I can assure you no one is making any waves about it. In the end it's mostly irrelevant. A man makes his own way in life. Being a bastard, it only makes your path a bit harder in some respects. Easier in others."

Snow glared at us.

"My nephew is correct. Don't forget who you are. Wear it as a badge of honor so no one could use it against you," Tyrion added his two cents.

"If you want to make something of yourself Jon Snow, you can come with us back to King's Landing. I could always use another sword. Besides, no one fucks up with my people."

"Not for long!" supplied Marrek.

"Think about it, Jon. Now, you two come one. They are missing us at the feast!"

"But Lady Stark..."

"Enough! Fall in line and march straight to the great hall! Both of you!" my voice snapped like a whip, with the tone I've used on countless battlefields across a whole galaxy.

Jon blanched and hurried towards the great hall. Tyrion on the other hand, gave me a long contemplative look before nodding thoughtfully and wadding towards the sounds of the feast.  
Marrek was giving me an inquiring look too. He knew the tone I used very well. It was one of an experienced battlefield commander. Which despite his clashes with bandits and other assorted scum, Durran wasn't.

"It's a long story my friend. This is neither the time or place for it," I said and walked towards the great hall, while mentally kicking myself for the slip up.

How the hell I was going to explain that? Neither Marrek or Tyrion were fools.

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 3**

**=Eddard=**

**Courtyard****  
****Winterfell**

Two days after the welcoming feast, Ned was preparing to join his old friend on a hunt. He was absentmindedly stroking the neck of his warhorse while thinking over everything that happened since the King arrived. 'Perhaps the hunt will do me some good,' he thought. Eddard needed something to get his mind of the problems that lay ahead. Because, despite his better judgment and the advice of his wife, he had agreed to become the hand of the King. Robert was his friend and needed his help.

In the end two things influenced his decision. Robert needed someone who he could trust in King's Landing and a letter he had received from Cat's sister, Lysa, who was Jon Arryn's widow. According to her the man who was a second father to both Robert and Ned had been murdered. Likely by the Lannisters, who already had too much power in the capital.

He had to get to the bottom of this mystery and help his friend. Ned's honor demanded nothing less. Yet, he couldn't help it but feel ill at ease with his decision...

"Lord Stark! I hear that congratulations are in order!" exclaimed Prince Durran, who had sneaked next to him while Ned was pondering on his decision.

Eddard pat his horse's neck and turned around. Robert's second son was walking towards Ned, his sworn knight was trailing him. Lord Stark examined the young man carefully. He was unsure what to make of Durran. The Prince appeared to be a stabilizing influence on his family, which wasn't a bad thing. The few rumors about him, which had reached Winterfell said that Durran wasn't interested in playing the Game, which was something that Eddard could respect... If he could trust what people whisper in the dark that is.

The truth was that Eddard hadn't made up his mind about this Prince. What he had seen so far suggested that Durran was reasonably competent and not particularly ambitious. Though there were few things that... felt off about the youngster. It wasn't anything he could point at. Not really. Just a sense he had. Like what was happening now. Ned couldn't really say that the Prince was trying to be anything but polite. It was expected that Durran, as a part of the Royal family and soon to be a Lord in his own right, would be one of the first to hear about Eddard accepting the Kings "offer". So, the Prince coming to offer his congratulations, well that was just what was done. Right?

Yet, for a moment Durran's cheerful expression was disappeared. Ned was taken aback by the look of pity that the Prince gave him. It was a fleeting thing, gone before Eddard could be sure what he saw. Just like that, Robert's son was beaming at him and asking about what game they could expect to hunt. As if that was the reason why the Royal came to see him in the first place.

The Lord of Winterfell frowned, wondering how much over his head he would be in King's Landing... He shook himself and nodded.

"Thank you, my Prince."

"So what about the game in this part of the Realm? What are we going to hunt? Boars, deer?"

**=ASOSAT=**

**=Bran=**

**Battlements****  
****Winterfell****  
**  
Bran watched how his father, brothers, the lucky bastards and the Kings men headed to their hunt. He wanted to join them, but was apparently too young. He hated being treated like a child! He was ten years old already!

He looked dejectedly at the leaving horsemen and smiled when he met his father's eyes.

His Direwolf pup came bouncing as if it had sensed his mood being rather down. Bran grinned at his furry friend.

"Come boy!" he shouted and ran further in the courtyard with the pup yipping after him.

Bran played a bit with his Direwolf Summer, until the host had left and there was no one in sight to scream at him during his favorite past time. Ned's son snuck a glance right and left. He saw that no one was looking at him and grinned. Bran started climbing the wall so he could make his way to one of the abandoned towers. He knew from experience that it was unlikely that there would be anyone to interrupt his fun. And he was right! Few minutes later, Bran was climbing an abandoned tower, all the while Summer was whining below him.

There was only one tiny problem. Once he was near the top of the tower, Bran heard noises. Moaning. He frowned. His first thought was to scurry down and make himself scarce, before he was caught. It wasn't fun when his mother was angry with him.

He looked up, towards the top, then glanced down, where Summer was getting more and more restless. Bran was torn, wondering what to do.

But not for long. He soon reached a decision.

Bran was just a kid, after all. In a short battle between his common sense and curiosity, the later won. As one might expect. So Bran continued his ascent, climbing towards the sounds. It took him no longer than a moment to reach his target. Or at least he felt that no time passed since he decided to continue and reaching his destination.

Once he was near the top, it was easy to move sideways until he found a large window. The sounds were coming from inside. It was a bit too far to reach, but he was lucky once again! There was some plant growing up the whole height of the tower, which had a thin, but hard stem. It was just like green, leaf covered rope, and it was conveniently placed so he could reach the window and peek inside. Actually passing the last meter or two to his destination was the hardest part of his climb, yet he made it. Bran clutched the plant and looked into the tower. He frowned, that was certainly not what the boy was expecting!

He saw the Queen, who was on her knees, leaning her back on a man who looked just like her! That was the Kingslayer, her brother! But what were they doing up here?! Alone at that...

Then the Queen looked straight at him!

"Stop!" she said in breathless voice.

Bran winced. He got caught... Again! He just knew that he should have done something else today... Perhaps if he got away really fast...

But it was not to be. Before Bran could try running, Jaime darted towards the window and picked him up by the front of his tunic.

"He saw us!" exclaimed the Queen.

The Kingslayer glared at Bran, scaring him.

"Are you mad boy?" exclaimed the Kingsguard.

"Damn it, Durran was right! This will be the death of us!" muttered the Queen.  
"I heard you the first time, sister."

The Kingslayer looked at Bran with a sad smile on his face.

"You are quite the little climber, aren't you? Why couldn't just stay back at the keep!?"

"My son will know..." whispered Cersei.

"Perhaps," said Jaime and glanced at his sister who was giving him a pointed look. "All right... your son is much brighter and more dangerous than anyone thought him to be. He'll suspect at the very least. But, what can he do? What would he do even if he knew? It's his head too if this secret is out!" The Kingslayer gave a small smile to his sister, before returning his attention to Bran, who was becoming real scared by now.

It was obvious to him that he had poked his head at something he had no business knowing. But now it was too late.

"How old are you boy?" asked the Kingslayer.

Bran looked at the man with huge eyes before gathering the courage to answer.

"Ten!" the boy hoped that his voice really didn't sound as scared as he thought it to be.

"Ten?" repeated Jaime. "What a pity."

The Kingsguard turned his head towards his sister.

"The things I do for love. For you and my children..."

Those were the last words Bran heard. Jaime's hand moved faster than he could follow. Suddenly the air was forcefully expelled from Bran's lungs. Then he was flying. And falling...

A Direwolf howled in the distance.

Bran's fall abruptly stopped. He heard something breaking; then there was only darkness...

**Part 4**

**=Joffrey=**

**Royal Hunting Party  
Forests near Winterfell**

The Crown Prince reloaded his crossbow, grinning madly. The only thing that could make his day better was if his shot had struck one of his irritating siblings instead of the wild geese, which he killed. Well, you can't win them all at once. When he was king, he would deal with his detractors, especially that ignorant fool Durran. That imbecile, who did he think himself to be?! Joffrey was the eldest! He would be King! He loathed being kept on a leash by his younger brother!

He took a deep breath and scanned the forest for another target. Joffrey needed to kill something to calm down. The way his younger brother and mother were trying to tell him what to do... It was making him mad! Didn't they know who he was?! He will be their ruler soon enough!

The Prince saw something moving in the branches of a tall tree. His arms snapped up, bringing his weapon to bear. He hastily took aim and let a bolt loose.

"DAMN it!" Joffrey fumed.

His shot flew through the greenery hitting nothing of importance. His target, a brown feathered bird squeaked in fright and flew away in terror.

Joffrey growled at his escaping prey. He would kill the next one for sure!

The Heir to the Throne reloaded again and made his horse walk deeper in the forest at a brisk pace, his useless retainers followed suit.

When he didn't find another convenient target to vent off his displeasure, Joffrey let his loaded weapon hung by a strap of crimson fabric. His throat was becoming a bit dry so he turned his attention to his retainers and shouted "I'm thirsty! Bring me something to drink!"

A young Lannister page ran towards him, bringing a small wineskin which was adorned with jewels.

"Here, Mylord. It's Dornish!" exclaimed the lad, aiming to please.

Joffrey grabbed the wineskin, glaring at the servant for not being prompt enough. Perhaps beating the little idiot would make him act faster next time. Though he doubted it. He had instructed a few guards to do so back in King's Landing, but it didn't have the desired effect. However, that might be because Durran stumbled upon the scene and stopped the guards from disciplining the lout... Hmm...

He tried the wine and smirked. It was the good stuff, as befitting a Prince. It was sweet and spiced, going down real slick.

Joffrey finished the wine and threw the now empty wineskin behind, without a care in the world. He never stopped to think that his drink might have been a little too sweet. It was Dornish after all. Their wines were some of the sweetest in all the Seven Kingdoms.

Neither the Crown Prince or his other retainers paid any more attention to the page who scurried after the expensive wineskin. They didn't see the small, thin smile that stretched his face. As far as almost anyone was concerned, it was business as usual. Just another hunt with the King and his bratty eldest son, though in Northern setting this time.

**=ASOSAT=**

**=Tyrion=**

**Courtyard  
Winterfell**

Tyrion and Sandor Cleagne, who was better known as the Hound, were drinking ale in the courtyard. The whole of Winterfell was subdued around them. As if it wasn't enough that the Stark's youngest had fallen while climbing, though Jamie's little brother had some suspicions about that, but his nephew had fallen ill. It was uncanny. Soon after messengers interrupted the hunt with news of the tragedy befallen Lord Stark's family and everyone made their way back to Winterfell, Joffrey started feeling light headed. A nasty coughing followed few hours later.

"Now this..." muttered Tyrion.

Cleagne shrugged and took a swing from his cup.

"Shit happens," grunted the Hound.

Tywin's youngest shook his head. He wasn't an idiot. Two boys of noble families, one the Crowned Prince no less, and the other the kid of the Warden of the North, suffering misfortune on the same day?! Even if the gods themselves came down and swore that it all was a damn incident, he wouldn't believe it.

By the station to which he was born, Tyrion had been forced to learn how to play the game. Oh, he hated it and preferred to spend his time whoring and drinking, not necessary in that order, but he was better than most. He had to be, with his father being arguably the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. The fact that Tywin hated his guts and would love to see him dead, helped motivate him even further.

After all, Tyrion wanted to die when old. Preferably by being fucked to death by a bunch of spirited whores.

"Uncle. Starting a bit early today I see," a familiar voice interrupted his lamentation.

Tyrion finished his mug of ale and looked at the source of the sound.

Durran had sneaked up to them. The Prince was wearing a simple black tunic with the Baratheon stag embodied in silver on his chest. It was uncanny how quietly his nephew could move when not wearing armor.

"Durran. I thought that you would be with your brother."

"Of course not. We can't get the whole Royal family sick if whatever Joff got is contagious! My dear brother wouldn't want us getting his disease after all."

Tyrion snorted. It was a public secret that Robert eldest sons loathed each other with a passion. Which make him think about this mysterious sickness... Who had to gain the most? Well that person was standing right here, next to the stack of crates on which Tyrion was resting. The Lannister looked at his nephew with narrowed eyes. Before this trip, he could have sworn that Durran would have nothing to do with a... hypothetical poisoning. Now he wasn't so sure.

His favorite nephew had changed. Arguably not for the better, though considering who he had for relatives, well the changes could be beneficial for his long term survival.

Tyrion wondered what had happened during the last six months at Storm's End. Whatever it was, it had radically changed Durran. Oh, for a casual observer the young man performed well enough so a significant difference couldn't be observed. Nevertheless, he knew his nephew better than that. Durran was no longer the patient, almost gentle soul he knew. While his nephew could be a hard man when necessary, he wasn't a player in the Game of Thrones. Beyond the bare minimum needed to survive as a part of the royal family. Durran had lacked the necessary ruthlessness.

After Jon Arryn died, that changed. It was in the boy's eyes. More often than not, they were cold. Hard. Calculating. Tyrion had seen such eyes before. Always, in veteran soldiers and survivors who were experienced in the Game of Thrones. Durran,however, he simply wasn't experienced enough. Yet, he carried himself as someone who had seen, done things way beyond his years.

It was a mystery.

"This trip has a rather tragic turn," said Tyrion.

"Indeed, uncle. Let's hope that there won't be any other wicked things happening before we return to King's Landing."

Tyrion raised and eyebrow. "Such a curious choice of words, Durran."

"Is that so?" the Prince looked at him with huge, innocent eyes.

Tyrion almost bought it. He would have if there wasn't such weariness in those deep emerald pools. At that moment, Durran looked like an old man who had seen too much battlefields without taking sufficient rest. It was something that the Hound noticed too, which made him pay closer attention to the boy. How interesting...

"It would be for the best that the remainder of our visit goes without further unpleasanties, don't you think? Our arrival brought ill fortune to the North, both for the Starks and us. That's all I mean, uncle."

"Too true," he answered.

"We are leaving in two days," declared Durran.

Well, that was surprising. Though when he thought about it, Tyrion should have seen it coming. It was just like Robert. After all, the King had never been particularly taken in with his eldest, thinking him to be too soft. For which Robert usually blamed Cersei in particular and the Lannisters in general. Tyrion would give him that, the King was right about his dear sister. She was most to blame in how the young man had turned out.

Seven Hells, the loaf they had for a King might expedite their departure only to needle Cersei! It would be just like the drunken sod to do such a thing!

The youngest Lannister stared at his nephew. He was wondering if Durran had not only the guts, but the skills and contacts needed to arrange the poisoning of his brother.

If indeed true, his suspicions went way beyond family rivalry. When you are a part of the Royal family, you had to play by more complicated rules. Every one of your actions were seen in different light and the stakes for both failure and success were astronomical.

The real question was, did it really matter? Tyrion knew of some of Joffery's excesses. The Kingdom had one mad king in the last few decades. It didn't need another. Though whether Joffrey could have been steered in a more manageable direction, that was another question. 'And when did I star thinking of my eldest nephew as if he was already dead?' Tyrion wondered.

Then he looked at the blank face of Durran and then at his shadow Marrek. If either of those two were responsible for Joffrey's mysterious illness, then the Heir to the Iron Throne was a goner.

Durran gave him a curt nod. His green eyes sparkled with something dark. They didn't belong to someone so young.

For the first time in his life, Tyrion felt afraid from one of his nephews. It was then, that he decided to keep his suspicions private and much closer to his chest. He didn't have any proof anyway. Even if he liked Joffrey and he was sure of the foul play, Tyrion might have remained silent.

He was the Imp. A man often laughed and ridiculed. By most people sans Durran. Who lately was pissed off by his antics, which until the last few days was a source of amusement.

Now, not so much.

In the end, what is a dwarf to do? Except to not ever again underestimate his nephew, who might just be the most Lannister of all of them.

A woman's wail exploded over Winterfell. For a split second Durran's lips twitched upwards in a resemblance of a grim smile, before he schooled his face back into a dispassionate mask.

Tyrion cursed. Despite hating her guts, he felt a pang of sadness for his sister. He could easily recognize her voice in the pain stricken screams flying over the city.

"_The Winter is coming. The motto of the Starks. In hindsight I find it oddly appropriate that it all began in the North. I wonder how many people will see the beginning of the next winter."_

**\- Marrek Storm, Sworn Shield of Crown Prince Durra****n ****Baratheon**

"_What would you do if you carry a suspicion like mine? When you believe that one of you nephews poisoned another, yet, you can't really say you wouldn't do the same in his shoes? Was it for the crown? For that damn Iron Throne? Or to protect yourself from a future King who despises you? __Why did you do it, Durran?_

_Me? It's simple really. I am going to visit the Wall. It will be much safer than a trip back to King's Landing with my sister. Then, who knows?"_

**\- Tyrion Lannister, the Imp**


	2. Chapter 2 Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**AN: This part is still unbetaed.**

**Chapter 2: A tale of Murders, Funerals and Arranged Marriages**

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 1**

**=Durran=**

**Great Hall  
Winterfell**

You know, being a prospective Crown prince can be a pain in the ass. First, your mad dog of a brother didn't have the grace to die few days later, the little bastard. Then you have to be one of the unlucky folks trying to console the grieving Queen Cersei, one of the finalists for a Queen Bitch of the Universe...

When that is done, somehow without you going into a murderous rage, then the King decides that it's a swell time to have a brainstorm. Yup. No matter that Joff died from a mysterious illness and Bran fell from a ruined tower, and is unknown if he'll survive... Robert Baratheon wanted to bind his House to the North. To the Starks. Last night I had a private chat with the King and was informed that I'm to marry Sansa Stark instead of my dead brother.

Then Robert passed out after finishing a mug of ale.

So here I am, two days after my unlamented brother's passing: breaking my fast with my remaining siblings and my Lannister uncles, while my "father" was undoubtedly burying his grief within the assets of a serving wench or two. Myrcella and Tommen, who knew exactly who and what Joffrey was, a petty vindictive little monster, weren't particularly saddened by his demise, though after a subtle prompting from myself, both of them managed to fake suitable amount of grief.

I took a bite of cheese and gave a pointed look to Jamie.

"It appears that at least something might go well in here," I opened the conversation in an unconcerned tone. "According to the Maester, Bran might well awake."

If I wasn't looking carefully, I would have missed the subtle shift in my uncle's bearing or the way his eyes slightly narrowed at the news. In case I needed a proof that the kid didn't fall by himself, which was always possible, with Bran being the bold little climber.

"Even if he awakes the boy will be a cripple. Better to deliver him from his misery. He won't have a real life otherwise!" declared Jaime.

"I don't know about that..." rumbled Tyrion. "Some say I'm a cripple too, but I'm doing all right!"

"You really don't want to continue that train of thought anywhere near my sister!" I grumbled at him.

"As if I couldn't tell what you are all talking about!" Myrcella huffed. She rolled her eyes at us and shook her blond mane in exasperation. "It's not like I'm still a little girl or something!"

Riiight. She was a brat. One with whom I didn't want to have this or a similar conversation, like ever. "Eat your breakfast, sister dearest," I said in a voice that brook no argument. She glared my way, but returned to her food. In turn, I turned my attention towards Jamie. "Uncle, you never know. The Gods might be sympathetic for once and the kid might turn out to be all right. Stranger things had happened," I shrugged.

The Kingsguard answered me with a thoughtful frown. At the same time, Tyrion sensed that this wasn't a conversation for the present company, decided to change the topic. "I hear that congratulations might be in order, Durran."

My siblings perked up at that.

"Apparently Houses Baratheon and Stark are to be joined despite the twin tragedies that struck us," I nodded. "I'm to be officially betrothed to Sansa Stark, once we come back to King's Landing."

"She's a nice looking girl at least," Jaime added his two cents.

"Who obviously fell in love with Joffrey at first sight and is a grief stricken mess right now."

Which showed that whatever she might become in the future, at the present time Sansa was nothing more than extremely naïve little girl. Knowing the little monster, he could have fit in with some of the more unhinged Sith I knew. Until they tired of his antics that is.

"Ah, the joys of the arranged marriages. At least Jamie and I managed to avoid the bolt so far!" Tyrion saluted me with his half-empty mug, spilling some ale on the table.

"It's still early in the morning, brother. A bit early to be tipsy, isn't it?" joked Jamie.

"Bloody jesters..." I muttered under my breath and returned to my meal.

**=Eddard=**

**The Solar**

**Winterfell**

Ned had retreated to the solar, dealing with some of the not too sensitive paperwork that came with his title of a Warden of the North. Though it would be more accurate to say that he was trying to. His mind kept jumping to what happened to Bran and the grief stricken mess Cat had become. The latest stunt from his old friend Robert didn't help either. The King had wanted to announce the betrothal between Sansa and Durran almost the next day after Joffrey died from his illness, but Ser Baristan and Eddard managed to persuade him to wait at least until they reached King's Landing. That at least was another headache temporally dealt with. He didn't want to think how his grieving daughter Sansa would have reacted to such an announcement, after the girl had fallen in love with the Crown prince at first sight.

Eddard frowned and looked at the letter he had been writting. His distraction was enough for his quill to leave a big dot of ink and mess up the parchment, wasting it. That was the second one he had to throw away that morning as no longer suitable for official correspondence.

He left the quill on the table and leaned back into his chair. Eddard couldn't help but think that the Royal visit had become a disaster for everyone involved. First his little boy, then Joffrey... As if a curse had come to Winterfell with the Royals. Then there was the reason for the visit in the first place. Jon Arryn's death. Or his murder as he had the reason to believe thanks to Lisa's letter. Ned sighed. It all meant that he had a little choice, but do his duty, accept the position of a Hand and try the untangle the whole god awful mess. Which meant that he had to go straight to the lion's den that King's Landing was reputed to become and thanks to the impending betrothal, bring at least one of his daughters with him. Something that sat ill at ease with Ned. The capital wasn't a healthy place for a Stark to be.

The Warden of the North winced remembering his father and brother's fate and shook his head. Eddard would have to take some extra precautions to keep his daughter safe.

The doors in the far end of the solar opened and caught Ned's attention. Eddard was surprised by the identity of his visitor. Of all people in the Winterfell, the new crown price wasn't the one who he would have expected. He stood up to greet the royal and was immediately rebuked with a hand wave.

"No need of that, My Lord Stark."

"Your Highness. Please be seated."

"Thank you. We need to talk." The prince's face suddenly became a blank mask, his tone – deadly serious. "I hope that the walls here don't have ears for once."

"Ah. No. We can talk privately." Ned nodded to the otherwise empty solar.

"I hope so. Your appointment as a Hand. I must implore you to decline."

Eddard frowned. There was something in the way Durran was speaking. Like someone much older than his age. More experienced that he had any right to be. Then there were his eyes. All the usual cheer and mischief, Robert's son had displayed was gone. Instead, a pair of old, old eyes were staring back at him. The Lord of Winterfell was wary. There was something important he was missing.

"Why is that, your Highness.?"

"For your sake my Lord. For your family's sake. King's Landing is much different place than you might remember."

Ned stiffened. Was this young pup threatening him?! He dismissed that idea. No, this was a warning. Eddard was suddenly sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jon had been murdered and Durran knew something about it.

The prince smiled sadly. "For the sake of your friendship with my father if nothing else."

"What do you know, your Highness.?"

"Why, many things, Lord Stark. You have to be more specific."

"Don't be coy, my Prince. It's unbecoming to someone of your station."

Durran chuckled at the rebuke. "On the contrary. You know, I rather like what I've seen from the North. It's much quieter, more simple place. Here I hardly need to deal with ten plots before breakfast."

Ned raised an eyebrow. Ah. Southern politics. He had almost forgotten why he hated most of the other realms.

"I'm glad that you like it here." was his neutral response. He wondered where the prince was going.

"You are an honorable man, Lord Stark. Perhaps the most honorable in the realm."

Somehow, Eddard didn't think that Durran was giving him a compliment. The boy's next words proved him right.

"In the capital, that honor will be your undoing. No matter how necessary, you and my father set a precedent all those years ago." Durran paused.

It took a moment for Eddard to grasp his meaning. Oh, fuck. The prince was talking about a possible civil war.

"Surely the King..."

Durran laughed mirthlessly. "Let me tell you what will happen, my Lord Stark. One of these days my father will go out on one of his famous hunts and won't come back. Then all bets will be off. Then all bets will be off. I'm a young, untested prince. One who no one was taking particularly seriously until recently. Do I need to go on?"

Eddard winced. After being Robert's host for some time now, he could see his old friend going out on a hunt drunk. Accidents happen. Not to mention, that the prince was implying something quite different. Still the succession was secured. Robert still had two more sons, the odds that both of them suffering either accidents or assassination were ridiculous.

"Not all men are as Honorable as you, my Lord. You shouldn't assume that there is anyone in the South that would act as you would do. Especially when honor crashes with the interests of the great houses."

That was some food for thought. Yet there was something that Durran didn't mention.

"What about Robert's proposal?"

"My betrothal to your eldest daughter?" The Prince shook his head. "Politically it makes little sense. Despite what you northerners did the last time you decided to visit fairer climates, the truth is that your realm is simply too far. What House Baratheon needs to cement its rule on that damn uncomfortable chair is closer ties with one more of the realms bordering the Crownlands. That will stabilize Westeros for generation to come. There are ties of friendship between our Houses already. Ties that still could be strengthened by marriage. I do have two other siblings after all. But, me marrying in the South? That will create a block made of four Great Houses, making another civil war out of the question."

"And the alternative?"

"It leaves the realm ready to go up in flames if something happens to father."

"Does it? Right now Robert has his own House, the Crownlands, The Lannisters and the North behind him. Even if something happens to him..." Eddard trailed off, wondering how Durran had become so paranoid.

"Ah. You are making an assumption on your honor. I warned you about that. Let us just say that I know my uncles. If something happens to my father, most of the Stormlands won't be backing a young prince."

Durran stood up and left without saying anything else. Eddard stayed in the solar late into the night, pondering on the prince's words.


	3. Chapter 2 Parts 2&3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Chapter 2: A tale of Murders, Funerals and Arranged Marriages**

**Part 2**

**=ASOSAT=**

**Durran**

**Guest Quarters**

**Winterfell**

That figures. Robert isn't fond of the Lannisters. But perhaps it's Jamie and Cersei in which case I can't really blame him. I've been here for couple of months and already contemplated murdering them both. On the other hand, fucking the help, while your wife's twin brother was guarding the door was getting a bit much.

"Hi, Uncle. He's in, I take it?"

Jamie rolled his eyes. "What gave it up?"

"That's not mother inside, right?"

The ugly look he gave me was an answer enough.

"Good. That's an image I don't really need. Now be a good knight and move away. I'm going to chat with with dad." I grinned.

"He's busy."

"So? Did he actually order you not to let anyone in?"

"No." succinct and to the point. My smile grew.

"No problem then. Just tell anyone that I overpowered you."

"Seriously? Cheeky brat."

"That's your Bratiness, for you." I quipped. "Now let me in. It will feel good, helping to cockblock the King."

"I'll regret this." he smirked. "Go straight in. It's on your head."

"Your lack in me is disturbing, Uncle."

Jamie shook his head and opened the door waving me in."

"The fuck?" Robert growled.

"We need to have a little chat, father. And, no fucking around until we are done." I glanced at the mostly dressed wench in his lap. Yeah, cockbloked before he's done much of anything. "You can continue it later, lass. Now scatter away."

The girl who might have been eighteen blushed furiously, averted her eyes and sprinted out of the room.

"The fuck do you want, Durran?" Robert gave me his patented glower. It would have been much more impressive if he hadn't become a great lump of fat as of late. "I was busy."

"Yeah. Nice lass with great curves in the right places."

"Who's no longer here." his glare went up a notch.

"Well, we can't have a private chat with the help around." I shrugged.

"Whatever it is it could have waited, damn it!"

"Uh-huh. Nope. You know, I just had a chat with your old friend, Ned. He's actually as honorable as the people say. Even more so."

The poor excuse for a King that was my father was caught off guard by the abrupt change of topic. Not something he would have let slide if he hadn't let himself go down the drains for the last couple of decades. Or so people kept whispering when they thought no one could overhear them.

"That's Ned." Robert actually grinned affectionately.

Note to self, check if the bloody spiky chair or the crown are cursed, making the King a bloody idiot. Then again, perhaps Robert never had been the sharpest tool in the locker.

"So why do you want him dead?"

"WHAT?! Durran have you lost your mind?!" Robert actually jumped off the bed, swayed and had to grab a nearby cupboard to hold himself upright.

Ah. So he was already mildly drunk. I should have guessed.

"Well, throwing him to the wolves in the King's Landing will see to that, no matter your intentions. He won't last more than few months." I shrugged.

Robert surprised me. He took a deep breath, actually somewhat calming himself and narrowed his eyes at me.

"Kid, start making some sense now, or I will call the maesters."

So my, hmm step father? Well, he apparently had a couple of brain cells in working order left. Or perhaps it was me. After all I was supposed to be his competent son. Who wasn't Joff, which in itself was a great point in my favor.

"Let's see. Jon Aryn, the old fella that had the constitution of a bull, got sick and died in a day. Who just happened to be the hand of the King. Then, my brother got sick and died. In. A Fucking. Day. Who was the Crown Prince. Do I need to draw you a picture, father? Who is next? Your new Hand? Me? One of my siblings?"

His eyes bulged at the implication. Good. It's another topic why no one really started screaming foul play after Joff died ahead of schedule. Ah. Right. Kriffing medieval world, where even the Royal family wasn't spared by plagues and the odd nasty sickness.

Note to self, find whoever or whatever stuck me here, without the Force and kill them slowly.

"But, the Maesters said…" Robert trailed off, his still living brain cells furiously rubbing together.

"Riiight. Because there aren't poisons that mimic sickness. The few retainers I have, are chatting with Joffrey's servants. Checking what he drank and ate that morning before the hunt. It's obviously it was something only he ingested or we would have had a bunch people falling around like flies."

"We'll see about that. If, "he stressed the word, "If my eldest son was murdered, I will have someone's head for it!" he was getting riled up.

Let's hope I wouldn't give him a heart attack. Not that such a thing would be a necessary bad. It's all in the details.

"Still, in such a case I will need Ned in the capital more than ever."

"So he can get killed while you drink and whore?"

"Who do you think you are talking to, boy?" he roared.

Temper much?

"Number three or four on the hit list depending if whoever has been poisoning people lately decides to go after you or me next. Or perhaps, fifth..." I shrugged. "If Eddard Stark comes to King's Landing. That place will be the death of him."

That statement took the wind of Robert's rage.

"Fucking poison. That's not proper way to kill people, only pricks like the Dornish like it!" he grumbled.

Ah. Such a splendid idea. I hadn't really planned to bring them in the mess too, but why not?

"Perhaps, or all things considered, someone is simply trying to pin the murders on them. It's not a secret that they hate you guts just like Arryn and Stark. Ah. Not to mention that while we are visiting, one of his sons just happen to fall off a tower. The same day Joffrey got poisoned." I rolled my eyes. "Just a tragic coincidence, right?"

"Lannister! Drag your sorry arse in here!" The King bellowed.

Jamie rushed in, arm on his sword. Was that a hint of relief I saw in his eyes when he figured out that Robert hadn't lost it and murdered me terribly?

"Durran, here has a disturbing theory on what's happening lately. Considering I'm quite drunk, but not all out of my wits yet I want to you to tell me what you think about it."

I should stop underestimating the locals. It figures, that Robert might not survived as a King that long if he was the bumbling idiot portrayed in the series and books. Granted, on most days he made a splendid rendition of it, but obviously he had some hidden depths. Which was going to make my life both easier and harder.

I spun my tale to Jamie to, who looked murderous by the time I was finished. So was Robert.

"Ahem. I hope you two aren't going on a killing spree or something? Our host won't like it, besides it's unlikely whoever is behind the murders to be in Winterfell. At best we'd find someone who had been paid to do the deed, if he's still around. We'll need to act somewhat subtly." I gave them a critical look. "Call Ser Selmy. If he can't be trusted we are probably fucked anyway. Then we need to do some planning."

"Than what?"

"Then we find the bastard who murdered my brother and give him what's coming to him."

Well, the cat paw I used to do the deed was expendable anyway. As far as the mastermind goes, well I intended to take the next step in my dastardly plan to secure the throne for myself.

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 3**

**Tyrion**

**Servant's Quarters**

**Winterfell**

Tyrion looked around the room. The place was a mess, thrashed furniture and scattered clothes laid everywhere. Two of Durran's men were still busy searching the place, though they had already found more than enough. He glanced to the right, where the body of the servant had been found, dead seemingly by his own hand. The boy had conveniently left a hastily scratched letter, giving a brief explanation and apology for what he had done.

Tyrion frowned. The servant had been a weapon, that much he didn't doubt. Being coerced by parties unknown in King's Landing, who were threatening his sister, who lived there, well that was a strain. Tyrion had a pretty good idea who was behind Joffrey's untimely demise, however he had to appreciate the tale Durran was spinning. If he didn't know better, he would have believed it. Fuck, it was entirely possible that Arryn was murdered and that the kid had been pushed from that crumbling tower because he had seen something. The latter two accidents might have nothing to do with Durran.

He shook his head and left the Stormlanders who paid him no attention and continued tearing down the place. Tyrion wanted to kick himself. He or someone else should have at least thought about the theory Durran was presenting for a fact. With all the backstabbing and intrigues inherent in the Game, it was all too plausible. Perhaps it was the location, the North where such things rarely happened. Or Eddard's reputation as the one truly honorable man in the all of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Tyrion! Your presence has been requested." Someone shouted from behind.

He jumped up, startled and glared at the man who surprised him.

"Jamie, you should stop doing that."

"Why? It's still fun, brother. Now let's go."

"Where?"

"There is a meeting and Durran wants you to attend. Apparently he's heard from somewhere that you have a sharp mind and he wants to use it."

"Really?" Let's hope my nephew won't suddenly decide that said brain will be more useful spilled on the ground. That kid was scary.

**=ASOSAT=**

'Now, this was interesting.' Tyrion thought.

Jaime led him to a secluded room, which had only one entrance guarded by Stormlander and Lannister men. Inside he found the King sitting on the head of a table, with Durran at his right side and Lord Stark on the left. Ser Selmy was sitting next to their host and he was waved to go to his nephew's side.

"Uncle, it's good you could join us so promptly." Durran gave him a wan smile, which made his entrails freeze.

"Your, Majesty. Your Highness, My Lord, Ser Baristan..." Tyrion greeted in turn, declining to play the role of the fool. He felt that it might be even more hazardous to his health than whatever was happening.

"Sit down, Lannister. For some reason, my son believes that you can be useful." Robert glared at him.

Well fuck. Thank you very much, nephew. You are no longer my favorite among my sister's kids.

"Are you up to speed?" Durran asked.

"I got the basics. Foul murder and treason." he shrugged.

"Damn straight!" the King growled.

Tyrion looked around. Eddard Stark appeared to be carved out of marble, though his icy eyes glowered with barely contained fury. The King was obviously pissed off and Ser Selmy had a grim expression on his face. Which left Durran. The youngest man in the room was calm and despite his age looked as if he belonged here.

"What have your men found, your highness?" Ser Selmy asked. If the famous knight was perturbed by the fact that the investigation of his charge's death was currently conducted solely by the men of the young royal, he didn't show it in any way.

"Ser Storm found one of Joffrey's pages dead in his room. It looks like poison." Duran then nodded at a parchment that laid on the table in front of his father. "That note was found with the body."

"What does it say?" Tyrion asked.

"It names no one in particular, but it appears that the page, one Roderic Kole, was blackmailed to poison my brother. His sisters had been taken from their home in King's Landing just before we left. Once it dawned on him what he had done, he got a sudden case of intelligence, comprehending that the girls were most likely dead as loose ends. So he wrote the note and ingested the rest of the poison, afraid that he will be tortured once we got our hands on him."

"Damn straight!" Robert growled.

Yep. Tyrion could see it happening. Once found out, the lad would have been made intimately familiar with all the fun and joys the interrogators could think off, no matter what he said or admitted. Not after being accused for murdering the Crown Prince.

"It doesn't say anything about Bran." Lord Stark muttered.

"Kole wasn't in Winterfell when that happened." Durran shrugged. "While it is possible that the lad's luck simply ran out, I understand that he is a spirited little climber," the Prince continued, "it is just as likely that he saw something in that tower that he shouldn't. If we are indeed dealing with a conspiracy here, as this note indicates, it is more than likely that there are other people involved. Until the kid awakens, we probably won't know any more."

"If he awakes." Robert muttered, earning himself a glare from his old friend.

"That said, what do we do to keep any more assassinations from happening?" Tyrion asked. He didn't mention that the set up presented by Durran's men was a bit convenient. It wasn't like he had any proof one way or the other. A hunch didn't count for much. Especially when it could have been just his new found wariness of the young man speaking.

"When all is said and done, we don't know if anyone else currently in Winterfell is involved. It's not like we can send everyone in the dungeons and interrogate them." Durran shrugged.

"We of the Kingsguard will do our best, however defending against poison..." Ser Selmy trailed off.

There were only seven of them. No matter how good knights they were, they couldn't be everywhere. It wasn't like just tasting anything that their charges might eat or drink would help. There were slow acting poisons after all.

"In any rate we need to tighten up security. It's not necessary that the next murder will be with poison." Ser Baristan added.

"Watching how the food and drinks are prepared..." Tyrion muttered aloud.

"Splendid idea. Besides it would be prudent to make sure that the folks making our meals are reasonably trustworthy." Durran added, smiling at Tyrion.

"That might help. All this talk of poison is killing my appetite!" Robert grumbled.

Tyrion was surprised that everyone was able to keep their thoughts at the notion to themselves. Barely if the glint in Durran's eyes was anything to go by.

"That said, steps must be taken to secure the realm as a whole." the Prince added. "Father, you, Lords Stark and Arryn made an example when you took down that fire worshiping madman. One that now might be biting us all in the arses."

Eddard frowned. "What do you mean, your Highness?"

"You showed for all to see that the Iron Throne could be taken and held by the strength of arms. Now, I might be mistaken, but add few assassinations, some political maneuvering and strife and the Throne becomes tempting target once again. When I thought about what happened, those murders might have nothing to do with someone hatting our Houses. It might all be the obvious, an opening gambit for the Throne."

Tyrion raised and eyebrow at that. He was almost expecting that Durran would have simply thrown the blame at either the Dornish or some of the other known players who had an axe to grind with the Royal house and its closest allies. The worst thing was that he could see it all playing like a mummer's farce. First remove the Hand of the King, the man who had been actually running the realm ever since Robert ascended to the throne. Then take out the Crown Prince, messing up the betrothal with the Starks as a side effect. Now we had the second son as a heir presumptive, a youngster who had been mostly out of the public's eye. Untested and unknown. Some would undoubtedly smell a weakness in the dynasty. Others would be concerned that Durran might be more competent and much harder to manipulate than Joffrey had appeared to be.

Now, if something happened to Eddard Stark and Robert… Tyrion's thoughts trailed off. It would be a recipe for disaster. Another civil war in the making.

"We need to curtail any ambitions about taking the Throne from our House..." Durran mussed aloud.

"Once you are married that will help." Robert said.

"Indeed. However not to one of Lord Stark's daughters. No offense meant, my Lord." Durran hastily added the last sentence.

"Nonsense! It's arranged." Robed glared at his son.

"And makes not much sense considering our current situation." Durran stood his ground and glared back.

"What is your thinking on the subject, your Highness?" Eddard asked calmly.

"The North is simply too far away to help in time if anything unpleasant happens in King's Landing. Besides, our Houses have been friends for some time. While you two are in charge, I see no short term problems. If a more formal arrangement is needed, I do have two younger siblings. My marriage," he shrugged, "must secure the south. The Tyrells might be the best match. Marrying in their House would secure the realm for a lot of reasons."

"NO! Those dragon loving bastards..." The King started ranting.

"Precisely. It is high time we bind them to the dynasty and deal with that problem." Durran smiled.

Robert stared at his son as if he had grown a second head.

Tyrion couldn't help but did so too. It was audacious… and made so much sense.

"Such a marriage would bind four of the Seven Kingdoms together, making another civil war all but impossible, especially if my brother or sister marries into the Starks. Five if you count the River lands thanks to their ties with the North. The Dornish and those pirates on the Iron isles would be impotent to do anything, and it won't really matter what Lord Arryn's widow decides to do."

Tyrion wondered how the conversation went from discussing murder to arranging political marriages. It figures. Politics.

Tyrion contemplated getting as much gold and valuables as possible and going to an extended vacation in Essos. He's heard very good things for the brothels there.


	4. Chapter 2 Part 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it. ** ****Chapter 2: A tale of Murders, Funerals and Arranged Marriages****

** Chapter 2: A tale of Murders, Funerals and Arranged Marriages**

**Part 4**

**= A Faceless Man =**

**A Certain Khal's wedding  
Essos**

The festives around him were what he expected. An orgy of drunkenness and sex, which was as often as not consensual. He plastered a smile on his new face and strode through the crowds like a man seeking his own entertainment for the night. The Khal had taken his new bride to mount her for the first time and his horde had broken up, celebrating the occasion. There were more than a few murders already, a good omen or so the local barbarians believed.

The whole camp was gripped in a sheer madness, just as expected and accounted for. The assassin slipped in a shadow near the Khal's tent, looked around to confirm that no one was looking at him and changed his face to that of the Khal, a feat only possible after studying the man for most of the day while posing as one of his men he had disposed off earlier.

The Faceless man plastered a satisfied leer on his face and headed toward the Khal's tent with a sure gait. His whole being radiated confidence as if he owned the place.

The whole charade hinged on three carefully considered points. The assassin was one of the biggest men in his organization, with a body that could easily pass for one of the Dothraki. Second, he was an accomplished warrior, so he had more than a good chance to win a fair fight with one of the horde members, something that proved useful on more than one occasion during that long day.

And third, he knew the language and customs just as well as one of the Dothraki. After all, twenty years ago, he used to be one of them until the horde he belonged to was destroyed by a rival and he ended sold into slavery. Then the assassin got lucky and the gallery transporting him was taken down by Braavosi vessel and he was rescued before ending as a charge of the Many Faced God temple.

The rest as some say, was history.

He nodded at the bored looking guards at the entrance of his tent and got in. A genuine smile appeared on his face. No matter how well trained he was, he still remembered a bit of his past. So the opportunity to screw over the Dothraki even in this small manner, warmed his heart.

The Faceless man looked around. It wasn't hard to notice the ornate chest containing the dragon eggs. According to his contract he needed to get away at least with one of them. He briefly considered trying to get more out, but that would have been suspicious. So he grabbed one egg and hastily covered it with an expensive rug. Then he grabbed a fresh wineskin and made his way out.

"My Khal!" One of Drogo's friends stumbled in the assassin's way. "Where's your young filly? Why aren't you still mounting her?" he made a suggestive motion with his hips.

The Faceless man smirked. "I exhausted her." he smirked and waved the wineskin. "She needs something to perk her up."

Apparently that was the right thing to do because those who heard him howled with laughter. No one commented on the rug he was carrying, probably assuming that it was for the Daenerys girl too.

He slipped in the shadows on the way to the nearby beach where Drogo and his wife were consuming their marriage and made his way towards one of the planned extraction points. A boat waited few leagues away, ready to take him to a Westerosi ship which was anchored just below the horizon from their location.

**=ASOSAT=**

**= Robert =**

**Meeting room**  
**Winterfell**

Robert Baratheon, the supposed absolute ruler of the Seven Kingdoms carefully studied his oldest still living child, ignoring the other people in the room. In the last couple of months, Durran had changed. While before he had been unremarkable, content with his lot and the position he was to inherit as the future Lord of the Stormlands, the youngster had started showing interest in many different things. From politics and all that was necessary to run one of the realms, to pursuits better suited for fucking maesters. Which had caught Robert's eye in the rare moments when he allowed himself not to be drunk. Those few occasions had only reinforced his regrets that Joffrey, the waste of space had been the eldest son, so the heir of the throne.

When that little shit, who appeared to lack a single drop of Baratheon blood in him got sick and died a few days ago, Robert was actually relieved. In his sober moments, he had wondered if his spawn would try rivaling that Targ cunt in the running for the worst King ever since the Conquest. At least Joffrey had the good grace to do one thing right.

The King suppressed a shudder. He keenly remembered the first time he was made aware what kind of a son he had as an heir to the throne. Joffrey had been a snot-nosed brat of nine summers, when he had proudly presented Robert with a "gift". A cat's spawn, cut off from her belly. That accursed boy had been grinning like a madman, expecting a pat on the back.

Even to this day, Robert didn't know how he kept himself from striking Joffrey down on the spot. He had known it then, that there was something wrong with the boy.

The King shook his burly head. Good riddance.

Now he had to deal with his second eldest son. Who was already giving him a headache. All things considered, Robert was starting to wonder what the hell possessed him to take the throne in the first place. He should have swindled either Ned or Jon to take it and went to Essos to live his life in as he was meant to – breaking heads and bedding busty wenches.

Instead, he was stuck with a wife who hated his guts, something that had become mutual during the years of their marriage, an awful, uncomfortable throne. Spiky too, with more than enough places to cut yourself if you didn't pay attention. Oh, yeah. You had to deal with politics all day long on the rare occasions when you couldn't push all that heap of bullshit on your Hand.  
Now this. Robert had to deal with conspiracies and murders, instead of drinking his day off and getting laid. Which reminded him. He had to do something appropriate to Durran for having the gall to cockblock him of all people!

But first they had to decide what to do with whoever was responsible for Jon's murder. Oh, he would congratulate the bastards for ridding him of Joffrey just before he bashed their heads in, or leaving them to Ned and that giant two-hander of his. That sword was excellent for splitting guts and cutting off heads!

The King was returned to the present by Ned, who loudly cleared his throat.

"What's your call, Robert?"

"Run that by me again." he grunted.

Ned gave him a long suffered look, then his expression returned to its usual imitation of ice mask.

"About clearing up and securing King's Landing."

"The Gold Cloaks are less than useful." Ser Baristan added.

"I can attest to that. I wanted to see if the rumors are true and had one of my people bribe them." Durran shrugged. "For few dozen dragons he has a free run on two of the City gates. With a bit of gold anyone and anything could be smuggled in without any trouble whatsoever."

"Someone will have to deal with that." Robert gave his old friend a pointed look.

Ned opened his mouth to answer when Durran interrupted him.

"I would like to volunteer. It will be a nice trial run for my abilities. I can't be expected to one day run the whole kingdom if I can't deal with a bunch of corrupt city guards."  
"He actually has a point." Jaime quipped. "Though you should be careful nephew. They will likely disagree to being made into upstanding citizens. You might end up skewered."

Robert glared at his brother in law. No one was going to poke holes into my one competent son, damn it!

"You might have a point, uncle." Durran grinned at the Lannister. "I'll request that you'll be the Kingsguard assigned to keep me in one piece. It shouldn't be too hard for an accomplished swordsman like yourself." he paused for effect. "Unless you are loosing your edge?"

The King laughed out aloud at that quip. Serves golden boy right!

"That's actually a good idea." Ser Baristan nodded sagely. "We failed one prince. There won't be a second time." He stared at Robert's son. "You won't be going anywhere without at least two knights keeping an eye on you."

Durran looked affronted. "Even when I'm getting laid?" he asked, making Jaime chuckle.

Actually that was a good idea. The vengeance would be his!

"That won't be an issue, Durran." Robert beamed at his son. "You won't be getting laid again until you are married. There are consequences for cockblocking your King, you know."

Jaime started laughing like a maniac. "That's priceless!" he managed to mutter.

"Neither are you, Lannister. I haven't forgotten that you let him in!" Robert smirked.

"Fuck!" Jaime exclaimed.

"No uncle, no fucking around. Until I'm married, right?" Durran smirked at his uncle.

"Ahem. Let's go back to the reason for this meeting."

"What?! Those two interrupted me while I was about to get laid! It's important!" The King tried to defend himself.

Ned glared at his liege Lord.

"Fine, fine! So who do we suspect?"

Eloquent silence answered him.

"Well, grandfather probably didn't have anything to do with it. Probably." Durran shrugged.

"We can probably exclude Jon's wife too."

Eloquent silence followed.

"That's it?!" Robert exclaimed.

"We are talking about that bloody uncomfortable looking, spiky abomination that you sit on from time to time." Durran quipped. "For some reason most High Nobles in the realm crave it."

Robert was tempted to shout that they could have the bloody thing and storm out of the room, but a sudden case of common sense stopped him. His one true friend in King's Landing had been murdered over that thing. His best friend, Ned had almost lost a son, and still might because of it. He would see everyone responsible hang for this!

"How do we smoke them out?"

"We'll need to have a chat with your Master of whispers, Robert. Its his bloody job to know of such things. So he's either incompetent or involved in some form."

"In that case we will need agents of our own in King's Landing. Men who aren't easily recognized as our supporters." Durran added.  
"How do we do that? Ned here is too honorable to have such folks around, and I don't have skulking in the shadows, backstabbing bastards on call. Though such would be mighty useful right now."

"I do have a few." Durran muttered. "Besides, I'm sure that uncle Tyrion knows the correct lowlifes." he looked at the dwarf.

Huh. Robert had almost forgotten that the half-man was present. He looked at the youngest Lannister, who appeared to be the center of attention.

"Thank you very much, nephew." Tyrion muttered darkly.

Durran cheerfully waved at him.

"As it happens, I'm indeed familiar with the type. Though making sure that they will remain bought might be an issue."

"I have just the man for the job." Durran grinned like a shark.

Robert wondered where he had went wrong with his children. He had to check on Tommen and Myrcella. One of them just might be a proper Baratheon.

**=ASOSAT=**

**= Cersei =**

**Sept**  
**Winterfell**

The Queen seethed. She stared at the linen wrapped bundle that was the body of her eldest child. Her beautiful Lannister prince, taken away from her long before his time. Fear and fury fought for dominance within her heart.

It was all Robert's fault! If he hadn't all but ordered Cersei and her children to come to this gods forsaken place, her dear Joff would be alive! Instead he had to come to the never sufficiently damned North to get sick and choke on his own blood! Damn Robert and his friend! She shook with anger. It was all their fault and she would make them pay! One way or another!

Robert, that animal! He had to go first, then that miserable wolf!

Cersei straightened up, her eyes gleaming madly in the darkness. She was busy plotting a King's downfall.

**=ASOSAT=**

**= Durran =**

**Meeting Room**  
**Winterfell**

"With that out of the way, let's talk marriage arrangements." I said after it was decided that Tyrion and myself will be responsible for straightening up the Gold Cloaks and building and spy network as an alternative to the "little birds".

"You made your point!" Robert grumbled. "Ned, what do you think about it?"

Well, Lord Stark, the ball is in your court.

Eddard leaned back in his chair. "He is right. The North is simply too far away, to provide timely assistance if you need my swords. I will always have your back, Robert, but that means little if I can't get my men in the South in time. While it will be great if our Houses unite, as it was meant to be, it might be in the best interest of the Realm if Prince Durran seeks a marriage closer to the Crownlands."

"Which means either The Tyrels, Dorne or the Vale." Ser Baristan added.

"I'm glad that no one mentioned the Iron Islands." I muttered.

"No pirate brides for you, boy. I don't want to give you ideas!" Robert grumbled.

I gave him an innocent smile, but he apparently didn't buy it if his snort was any indication.

"Send ravens to all of them. Both the Tyrels and Dorne have princesses of the right age, while there are certainly Noble daughters that fit the bill in the Vale. That way they will have high ranking members of their Houses in King's Landing for us to watch. If any of them is involved, someone might slip giving us a clue. Besides, it won't hurt for all of them to clearly see that they aren't the only choice. It will make negotiations much easier." Tyrion demonstrated that devious brain of his.

"That's actually a decent idea." Robert nodded. "Make it so!"

"You are the King, father. Those letters must come from you or your Hand." I chuckled good maturely.

"Spoilsport. Ned, are you taking the bloody job or not?"

Eddard thought for a moment and nodded gravely.

Son of a bitch, that just made my life that much harder.

"Splendid! We'll have to drink for that! Now, who of my youngest do you want to marry in your house?" Robert beamed.


	5. Chapter 2 Interlude

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Interlude: Planting seeds**

**= Durran =**

**One month ago**  
**Temple Quarter  
King's Landing**

I smiled as the Chief Septon TM was staring at the first printed book Westeros has ever seen. The obese man was wearing garish robes, which were meant to make everyone recognize his esteemed rank. In my humble opinion he looked like a bloody clown. However, that didn't make him any less useful.

The Septon was careful turning the pages of the book and gently tracing the printed letters with an index finger.

"This is marvelous, your Highness!" He beamed. "All the letters are the same. No little mistakes or smudges! How long did it take to make this?"

"A few days. This is the first finished product of my prototype press. When my little operation is in gear we'll be able to produce multiple copies a day. The main bottleneck will be the paper, not the printing operation itself."

"I see." His expression dropped. The Septon took a deep breath, steeling himself. "If I may be so bold to ask, your Highness, have you considered the ramifications of your invention?" He asked with a measured tone.

Oh, I did indeed! My smile widened.

"Yes, it will leave all your scribes without work within the next few months. Unless we reach an arrangement. It so happens that I have one in mind, which will be immensely profitable for the Church." I didn't need to add that even more dragons would flow into my coffers.

"Ah." He visibly calmed down.

It was a good thing that the current High Septon was a shrewd, wordy man. The fact that he had expensive tastes didn't hurt at all either.

"I plan to greatly expand my printing operation. For that I'll need skilled, literate people. A lot of them too. And you just happen to have a lot of Scribes who would find themselves out of work, soon." I waved at the book in his hands. "Besides, who would be better to spread the Seven's word, than men of faith? A big portion of my publishing will be centered on Sermons and holly scripture."

"I'm sure that the Seven will wholeheartedly approve!" he gave me a conspiratorial smile.

**=ASOSAT=**

**Pyromancer Guild  
King's Landing**

I was looking around something that suspiciously looked like a primitive chemistry lab, while the Chief fire loving maniac was grinning like a loon. He was tickled pink that a Royal Prince was giving him and his bunch of pyromaniacs the time of day.

"While this set up is certainly impressive, I can't help but notice that it's a bit… run down." I shook my head sadly. "We can't have that!" I exclaimed loudly, making my host and his sycopants jump. "What do you need to get the best alchemist lab in all of Westeros and Essos?"

I swear his eyes glowed with excitement. He started reciting by heart what equipment he dreamt of, most specially build. Of course, all very expensive too.

"That's all? You'll get it as fast as I can get the necessary dragons."

My hosts were eagerly nodding.

"However, I can think of few ways to expedite that process, and you are in the unique position to help me help you." I beamed at them.

"Certainly, My Lord! Just tell us what you need!"

"There are few projects I could think off.

Who would have thought that getting the pyromaniacs allegiance would be so easy? I just needed to throw some money at the problem and give them directions on how to build some primitive napalm. Which they promptly started to try combining with their own blend of burning hell. But that's another story.

"I'll have some smiths come your way so you could start making designs on this project. And please, try not to use wildfire when it's time for testing. Coal will be sufficient for now." I hastily added when I explained the basics about building a steam engine and let them handle designing and building one. The Chief pyromaniac looked disappointed, so I had to promise him that once the technology had matured a bit he could try running it with their special contortions. He looked like a little kid in a candy store when I told him that.

"One more thing. I found some old Valyrian scrolls that explained how to make a certain kind of powder. It's a mixture of three elements, which if done right explodes."

"That fascinating!" my new pet maniac grinned. "How does it compare to wildfire?"

"Well, it's not as nasty but apparently if done just right it's much more stable. Speaking about that, I'm ready to pay good money if you find a way to stabilize our favorite brew so it could be used in reasonable safe way during battle."

"We've been trying to do just that in ages, My Lord." his expression dropped. "If we succeed it would have been glorious!"

Yep. He was crazy all right, but I still thought that the fella couldn't compare to Cersei.

"So what is this powder of yours?"

"You'll need the following things..." I started listing the gunpowder ingredients.

**=ASOSAT=**

**Guild Quarter  
King's Landing**

Paying good dragons for a meeting, tends to get people's attention. I was in the part of the city, where the blacksmiths were concentrated, meeting some of their more prominent members. I was testing the waters so to speak, checking how much outfitting ten thousand men will cost. Which was a bloody lot, more than I could afford in the short term, at least until I my other schemes got out of the ground.

At least my newly minted printing business was picking up speed beautifully.

"I've been spending some time browsing dusty tomes from the Valyria's time. I opened up the conversation. As you can guess, one of them contained some interesting notes that are relevant to your esteemed profession." I started. It never hurt to butter up your prospective new business partners.

"That's interesting, your Highness?" their Guild Leader spoke warily.

"Oh, it is!" I exclaimed. "Its about something they called a steel mill…" I gave them an explanation.

"While it all sounds very interesting, your Highness, what does it have to do with us?"

"I want to hire some of your guild members to try recreating that technology. It was even mentioned that it was one of the steps needed to forge Valyrian steel, though the rest of that book was unfortunately ruined..." I looked morosely.

That got their attention all right. Oh, they haggled hard, made great impression of mules on few occasions, resisting the introduction of other changes, but in the end the Guild master agreed to lend me the use of some of his people for my various projects. It cost me a lot of dragons, so much in fact that after I financed a particular operation in Essos I was near bankruptcy.

Still it was a good investment in my mind. Now it was time for the last business meeting before I had to leave for the North with Robert and company. I was going to meet with the Dye makers guild and try convincing them to work with the pyromancers in order to make me more money.

**=ASOSAT=**

**Prince Dorran's quarters  
Red Keep  
King's Landing**

I sighed as I looked through the window at the city below. I needed to arrange some impressive distraction to cover how I got some of my starting capital. Fencing off some of the Royal Jewelry and whatever gold and silver I managed to nick from the keep got me starting capital, but I needed my esteemed relatives looking at bigger problems when we returned. A murder or two should do it, plus I still had some time to refine my master plan. In any rate, by the time we returned, I would need Robert and company distracted. Hm… A good conspiracy might just do…

I glared at King's Landing. The place was a fucking shithole, just as the rest of this primitive world! By the force, I've been stuck at various hell holes, but this place took the cake! There was no technology to speak off and after all those years, they were still stuck at medieval level, damn them all!

Well, fuck them! Noble or not I won't just live my life here in this damned squattor. No matter what some delusional fool might try selling you, even living as a Royal in such conditions, can't compare as having the normal conveniences of a pre-space faring worlds much less what a member of a galaxy spanning civilization was accustomed to!

So damn them all, I was going to kick this world in the industrial age at the very least even if I had to do that over mountain of corpses and rivers of blood!

Which very well might be the case. Most nobles were likely to oppose the changes I would be making, whether because they were afraid of the innovations or were simply old fools who would be loathe to change.

So be it! It was time to set up the stage and pave my way to tangible political power. I smiled. My visit to the North would be interesting indeed.


	6. Chapter 2 Part 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

** AN: I need a beta for this and the previous few updates! **

**Chapter 2: A tale of Murders, Funerals and Arranged Marriages**

**Part 5**

**= Oberyn =**

**Tower of the Sun**

**Sunspear**

**Dorne**

"Brother! You shouted and here am I!" Oberyn exclaimed, riling up his sibling a bit.

Doran didn't take the bait and instead continued reading from a parchment which he was holding. The older man raised up his head and smiled mischievously.

"Do you know what am I holding, Oberyn?"

The younger Martell shrugged. He hadn't been doing anything that could be considered troublesome lately, Honest! Just a bit of brawling, drinking and getting laid. With the later taking most of his time. After all, Ellia was in Sunspear and she was distracting in the most delicious way. Not that he would have it any other way.

"It's a request. From the King."

Oberyn's good cheer died sudden and unexpected death. A snarl appeared on his face. "What that bastard of a stag wants this time?"

"A future queen for his son."

"Joffrey?! That little waste wouldn't know what to do with a Dornish woman even with written instructions and a guide." Then he grinned viciously. "Though this might be an opportunity to get our pound of flesh."

"You don't know the half of it. First Joffrey is dead."

"Ah. A stag gone! Couldn't have happened to a better person. Dare I hope that it was painful and embarrassing?" Oberyn grinned.

"He apparently got sick in the North and wasted away promptly."

"Eh. Good enough. So Prince Durran." Oberyn paused. "I actually don't know much about him."

"You'll have an opportunity to meet him. I'll be sending you as my representative. Apparently he'll be choosing a bride between us, the Tyrells and some Lords daughters from the Vale."

"So the Stags do have a bit of brains. Such a marriage will cement their dynasty on the throne. Which isn't good if we are to get our vengeance."

"About that..." Doran's smile grew. "It was implied that when our representatives arrive, we'll be getting a 'gift'. A certain mountain was mentioned."

Oberyn's eyes lit up with unholly light. "How interesting..."

**=ASOSAT=**

**= A Queen of Thorns =**

**Highgarden**

**The Reach**

Lady Ollena Redwyne traced the letter's edge with a gaunt, thin finger. Her son and granddaughter were in attendance, waiting for her to speak.

"This is all we ever wanted." she said gruffly.

Mace beamed, nodding. He had a foolish grin plastered on his face.

"I'll make an educated guess, grandma. This," Margaery's slender fingers pointed at the letter, "is the newest marriage proposal for my hand. One, you approve of for a change. So I'm going to be bargained for what exactly?" there was no bite in Margaery's calm voice. The girl had a good head on her shoulders and knew that it was inevitable.

At least she could be sure that her grandmother would do the best by her.

"How would you like to be a Queen, dear?" Ollena smiled at her granddaughter.

For a split second, Margaery's eyes widened, before she schooled her expression back to a calm mask. "That's certainly new. So Joffrey then?"

"Oh, no. You actually got lucky. It's Durran. Our dear Crown prince got sick and died, the poor boy." Ollena shook her head sadly. It would have convinced most people, but her granddaughter knew her too well.

Margaery snorted softly, showing her own amusement.

That Joffrey was gone, had its good and bad sides. As far as her grandson Loras, who was in the Capital as well as various other Tyrell agents had reported, that boy had been a monster in the making. On the bright side, he wasn't the sharpest sword in the bin and thus much easier to manipulate. Durran, the new crown prince on the other hand, well he was another breed of animal. So far he had been laying low, apparently content with his position as a heir presumptive of the Stormlands. Which in turn was possible only thanks to Robert's unique position as both the Lord of that realm and King. He had never went with actually appointing one of his brothers as a Lord of the Stormlands in the fist years of his rule, and if the gossip in the Capital was true, he had no intention of doing so either, though Stannis has been his presumed heir. Something that had been confirmed couple of years ago when Durran had been designated as the future Lord of the Stormlands. It had caused a breech between Stannis and Robert, which was yet to heal, however curiously enough, Rently hadn't said a word.

Ollena frowned. That at least made sense, considering the relationship behind him and Loras. If that went public, Rently would have no chance of becoming the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, no matter how popurar he was right now. The bulk of the Stormlords were conservative like that. His official silence on the question indicated that Robert was apparently aware of his brother's preferences and had taken steps to ensure the succession of his ancestral realm. As far as Stannis was concerned, while she respected the man, Ollena was aware that almost no one liked him.

She shook off those thoughts.

"Margaery, my dear, you will have to be at your best, when you arrive in King's Landing. You will have some competition for Durran's hand."

"Am, I?" her granddaughter perked up. Obviously she was ready to accept the challenge, whatever it might be.

"Yes, similar letters were sent to Dorne and the Vale. It's obviously a plot to make the negotiations easier for the Baratheons, showing all of us that we aren't the only choice." Ollena grinned like the cat that got the canary. "However, we all know that those other realms don't hold a candle to what we can offer." she waved at her granddaughter. "Beautiful and a smart bride," she winked at Margaery, "all of your swords," a nod to her son, "and the Reach's bounty." The last indicated their status of the Seven Kingdoms breadbasket and all the money and prosperity that came with it.

"This is perhaps the greatest single opportunity any of us will get in our lifetime." She glared at her son. "Don't fuck it up, and for god's sake make a good deal!" she paused and took a deep breath. "On a second thought, I'll be coming with you. This will prove too fun to miss."

Ollena watched in amusement as Mace's expression fell.

**=ASOSAT=**

**Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

Lord Baelish re-read the letter, which was a copy sent by Lisa. He frowned. Joffrey was dead, all the effort he'd made into getting closer to the foolish boy was now for naught. He slumped in his comfortable chair. Now Durran was the Heir presumptive. Baelish had tried to get under his skin, but had been rebuffed. The best he'd managed to do to get an in with the younger Prince was help finance one of his schemes, which were admittedly rather profitable. In fact, once Durran was back, he would be arranging a meeting in order to invest further into the prince's innovations.

That printing press of his was already making significant profit, almost enough to make him green with envy. While a few of Baelish's agents had found a way to reproduce that invention, they still had trouble making a decent paper. He frowned. The security of that part of Durran's operation was tight and his people were unable to breach it. So far. Given enough time and money, Baelish would have that secret, thought it might be actually cheaper to simply buy it from Durran. That was one of the points he would be raising in their next meeting. Besides, he had to make himself close, preferably indispensable to the future king. You never knew when Robert might suffer a riding accident or something.

Baelish looked back at the letter. Soon enough life in King's Landing would become even more interesting, with parties arriving to seek a marriage in the Royal house. It was up to him to ensure a favorable outcome of that mess. For him at least.

Unfortunately, now he had to alter his plans. The original idea called for discrediting the North and taking out that bastard Eddard, so he could finally get his Cat. Now Baelish would have to improvise a bit.

We, just as expected, the Stark was to be the Hand of the King. With a bit of careful manipulation, the Lord of Coin could ensure that Eddard got a certain sensitive information at the right time, setting him on a clash course with the Queen and the Lannisters. Just as the original plan called for. However, that hanged on specific circumstances. Robert, dead, probably offed by Cersei herself. Something he could easily set in motion. Then it got complicated. Baelish was sure that he could have managed Joffrey. Durran however, especially as a newly minted King, would be a wild card that needed researching.

On the other hand, he could always engineer an accident for the boy, especially if he proved to be resistant to his advances.

What to do…

**=ASOSAT=**

**= Marrik =**

**Royal Camping site**

**Near the King's road**

**The North**

Ser Marrik Storm, sat down near the fire, where his Prince and Tyrion Lannister were breaking bread. They were in a small clearing a bit off the main camping place of the Royal procession. There were ten of his men in the woods around them, giving them some privacy from unfriendly ears.

"My Lords," Marrik greeted.

"Cut that crap, my friend." Durran quipped after swallowing a bite form what he called a sandwich – bread covered with butter, cheese and meat.

"Fine. Be that way, Durran." Storm smirked. He felt a tingle of warmth spreading through his heart from that little reminder. Marrik was the bastard son of a minor Stormlord, and here he was, having a dinner with the Crown prince, a man who didn't care for his parentage. Not only that, but the Baratheon scion considered him one of his closest friends. Where other highborn, treated him with cold formality or barely hidden disdain, Durran accepted him for who he was and acted as he if Storm was a close family member.

Something that Marrik didn't think possible, before meeting the Prince. He smirked. It was natural. After all, his Liege Lord apparently specialized in doing the unlikely and impossible.

On the other side of the fire, Tyrion took a swing from a plain copper cup, a piece of the server ware Durran insisted on using when there weren't people around who might be offended by it. He had explained that using copper as well as boiling them often and drinking either boiled water or some kind of alcohol were great at preventing diseases.

At first, Marrik had thought that it as simply another peculiarity of his Lord, but he had to admit that ever since he has been following Durran's "recommendation", Storm had felt a bit healthier. Though it was often hard to find a way to wash your hands with warm water and soap or a bit of alcohol before eating. He shrugged. One day he would convince Durran to tell him where he was getting all those ideas from. This wasn't the time to press the issue, though he had to admit of being curious.

"Take a bite to eat. We were just discussing our overall plan for King's Landing." Durran's voice interrupted his trail of thought.

"No need to invite me twice." Marrik said and cut himself a piece of the game roasting on a split over the fire. "Where were you?"

"The main problem. Actually building a spy network that won't sell us to the highest bidder." Tyrion muttered darkly. "My acquaintances will do a reasonably good job in the short term, but if we want something that will persist..." he shrugged.

"We need actual professionals, not the rabble that are usually used for the job." Durran interjected.

Marrik agreed with the notion. He had to admit that at first, his Prince's ideas seemed outlandish, but the way he had transformed his small cadre of guards from the usual bunch of banner men into what he termed professional soldiers was nothing short of amazing.

Professionalism, was something that Durran expected from all his subordinates. And awarded very well indeed. Which would be a bit of a snag in this particular case. How do you find "professional" spies you could trust? If such a thing even existed.

"Well, long term we'll have to train them ourselves. There are a lot of orphans running around King's Landing who will be grateful for a chance of improving their lives. Hell, working for us, even as spies probably will be an improvement. Though that doesn't help our short to mid term." Durran shrugged.

As a bastard, who if had gotten unlucky might have ended as one of those kids, Storm approved. After all fortune was a fickle bitch.

"Yeah, your ordinary cutthroat wouldn't fare well against the Master of Whispers agents."

"That's an idea." Durran smirked.

In that way. Yeah, that. Someone was going to be in serious trouble.

Tyrion stared at his Prince. Took another gulp of his wine. "What? You think you can just go in and ask Varys for his assistance? For all we know, he is a part of the problem."

If Marrik knew Durran at all, that was his plan. After a fashion.

"Well, I'll ask real nice." The smile on Marrik's Liege sent chills down his spine. It promised pain and suffering. Storm wondered what Varys had done to offend him.

"Let's table that discussion for now. The Gold Cloaks. I'll need the two of you to ferret all the corrupt bastards in their ranks. I need people who I can trust after we are done cleaning up that rat nest."

"It will be done. How much do you plan to expand them?"

"About ten thousand or so. Six thousand pikemen and the rest with crossbows. It will do for now."

Marrik nodded. He knew about the gunpowder and when Durran explained its potential use, his mind was blown away. Once it was produced in significant quantities, it was going to change the way warfare worked.

Tyrion whistled. "That's a lot of men. Wages, arms and armor. How are you going to pay for all of that?"

"Heh. That's actually one of my lesser expenses. What I would want from my businesses is to make enough coin to not only pay the Royal debts but refill the coffers afterward."

"The treasury?" Tyrion asked carefully.

"It appears to be rather empty. As in few millions of debt to my grandfather and the Iron Bank."

"Well, fuck. We'll need to look in our esteemed Lord of Coin too, then."

"Oh, we will, I can assure you of that."


	7. Chapter 2 Part 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Chapter 2: A tale of Murders, Funerals and Arranged Marriages**

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 6**

**=Durran=**

* * *

**Royal Camping site**

**Near the King's road**

**The Crownlands**

"Is that the best you can do?" Jaime taunted me. The bloody bastard was smirking at me and waved cheerfully with his practice sword.

Right then and there I loathed the man. With almost unrivaled passion.

That had nothing on the hatred I felt directed at my weakness. I glared at the grinning bastard and jumped back on my feet. If I had access even to the smallest trickle of the Force, he would have been a smoldering heap of cooked meat. Instead, only a taunting void answered my building fury. There was nothing, not even a sliver of the power that have been defining my existence for nearly a century.

Only weak flesh and bone that were lacking.

I rolled to the right, picked up my practice sword and jumped on my feet, feeling every single bruise and scrape I got so far. My muscles screamed with strain, while my lungs were burning as I panted, trying to get enough air.

I was going to erase that smug grin from Jaime's face if it was the last thing I did.

"Oh, ready for more? Are you sure?" The bastard smirked.

I closed my eyes, steadying my breath. My sword arm trembled until I got it under a semblance of control. Getting my rage be anything but a distraction, was much harder.

I opened my eyes and smirked.

"You got lucky, uncle. Care to try again?" I taunted with confidence I didn't feel.

He frowned. "I haven't given you any reason for false bravado. Are you sure you didn't hit your head on something?" He waved at the clearing we used as a sparring mat.

"Nah, my head missed all the rocks." My body didn't and it bloody felt like it.

I stalked forward, gripping my sword lightly. As I was right now it was painfully obvious that I couldn't best Jamie in a sword fight. It was time to stop trying and kick his smug arse.

He shook his head and swung my way. His attack wasn't sloppy or anything like that, yet it was obviously that he wasn't taking our sparing boot seriously any longer.

I parried, the blade ringing in my hand. Did I mention that Jamie was a strong bastard?

Then I twisted my wrist locking our swords together. Then I moved closer, stepping within his guard. That finally surprised him. He reacted by trying to push me back, relying on his greater strength. It almost worked too. It would have if I didn't let go of my blade and sidestepped, barely evading the push that would have thrown me back.

He stumbled, however the damned smirk was still on his face. After all I was already unarmed and he knew I didn't have a knife on me, the only thing that should have given me a chance in this stage of the fight.

He continued smirking until I kicked him in the back of the knee and grabbed the wrist of his sword hand as he tried to backhand me with the pommel of his weapon. I winced. The bastard almost dislocated my wrist as I caught his arm. Nevertheless I ignored the stinging pain and delivered a quick succession of strikes on his shoulder, aiming at pressure points. It wouldn't have worked if he wore his armor. With him clad with only a light tunic appropriate for the warm weather, that was of no concern.

It was my turn to smirk, when his right arm went limp in my hand and he let his sword slip through his fingers. The look of pure shock on his face was priceless.

I kicked him again in the back of the knee and then moved behind him, grabbing Jamie in a headlock after planting a knee in his spine. He grabbed my left arm with his still working hand and tried to pry me off him. If it wasn't for my knee digging in his back he might have done it too. When I say that he was powerful, I do mean it damn him.

Some time later he stopped struggling and I let him go, then stumbled back. The adrenaline started leaving my system and I fell to the ground, panting with exhaustion. I barely heard someone's booming laughter to the right. It wasn't Marrek, who was supposed to be our only audience.

I rolled my head in the direction the sound was coming and groaned. Robert was right there, leaning on a tree and doubled over with laughter. Ser Baristan was next to him and I think that the old warhorse was smirking… His eyes however, they were studying me carefully.

Bollocks.

**=ASOSAT=**

"Not happening." I snorted. "I'm not getting anywhere near you with a sword until I'm much better."

Jamie, who was sitting on the ground and leaning on a nearby tree, glared at me.

"I'm not giving you a chance to get even. You handled me my arse more than enough earlier."

"Oh, this is priceless, Kingslayer!" Robert, laughed again at Jaime's expense. The King was sitting on a moss covered tree trunk, which somehow didn't fall apart under his bulk.

I glanced at the Kingsguard hovering to my "father's" right. "Ser Baristan can I officially request that you help me improve my swordsmanship? It's obviously lacking."

The old knight looked at me for a few seconds before nodding. "It will be an honor, my Prince."

"What I am, chopped liver?" Jamie grumbled. His voice was a bit raw after the choke-hold.

"One of the best swordsmen in the realm." I smirked. "That's why I finally had my fill of getting my arse kicked and decided to improvise."

Jamie glared my way. By now everyone in the camp knew that I actually managed to defeat him. Most people wouldn't care that it was a lot of luck combined with a training I shouldn't have and his short lived surprise that brought him low. Not something I could count on again. That's why I wasn't going to spar with him until he cooled down and I was much better.

While a long time ago I've been trained to fight with melee weapons, vibroswords to be precise, it was different. Even the I had the Force on my disposal, making me faster, stronger and tougher than ordinary human. Not to mention the other benefits of having her as an ally and tool. During the years I've grown to rely on her more than I realized, even if usually I carried gear that might save my arse if I got in a situation that I couldn't use it for one reason or another. After all, on the top of my head I knew of at least three ways to cut off someone from the Force. One of them was at least semi-permanent too.

The big difference here and now was my body. It was that of teenager. So while I did apparently have all my skills and training to rely on, my body was betraying me. My reach was shorter, something that would be fixed as I grew up. My speed was decent, but nothing to write home about. My strength… Well, it was what one might expect when you compare a lad of fifteen against a knight like Jamie. Even at the end, when I had him at disadvantage it was as much skill as luck that I managed to take him out.

That was a state of affairs that I couldn't let continue. It was a great way to get myself killed, by either an assassin's blade or in the wars that I knew were coming sooner or later.

So on top of all the other shit I had to deal with I would have to bust my ass in training. At least as a Sith I could use the Force so once I was at my peak, I didn't deteriorate physically and had to only train my Force abilities and lightsaber techniques. That was a great time-saver.

No such luck here. I was just an ordinary human again, kriff it all!

I glanced at the people who had gathered near the clearing. Robert, Jamie and there were Ned and Tyrion coming up. My trusted right hand Marrek was at my side as always, too.

"So My Lords and Sers, considering that we are almost back at the viper's pit, any last minute ideas?" I changed the topic. It wouldn't do for someone to start wondering how the hell I took down Jamie, beyond the obvious conclusion that I had the Seven's own luck. Ser Baristan was giving me thoughtful looks already and that was bad enough.

"We'll get a Small Council meeting in the morning after we arrive unless there is something critical. Then we deal with the outstanding issues and start investigating." Ned was the one to start the ball rolling.

"I guess I'll play the bored prince who wants to play with soldiers and start cleaning up the Gold Cloaks. I'm sure that Ser Marrek will hep with that." I nodded at my retainer who looked eager to face that challenge. "My Lord Hand, yours will be the funniest job." I smiled at Eddard. The poor bastard should have stayed back at Winterfell.

"Oh, yours will be fun enough, nephew." Tyrion grinned impishly, no pun intended. "All those maidens that will be vying to be your queen." He wagged his eyebrows my way.

"All those noble fathers Lord Eddard and my father would have to handle and appease." I shook my head.

"Bah, that's why I have Ned!" Robert waved the concern away.

Lord Stark had his patented grim expression on his face and simply nodded. He obviously wasn't thrilled at the prospect.

"Well, in this case I'll be doing my best to keep you celibate, my lord." Marrek smirked. "We can't have you getting some noble daughter pregnant and possibly pissing off everyone who's about to arrive in the Capital."

"There is that. No getting laid for me." I showed my best crestfallen expression for everyone to see, causing most of the people around me to laugh.

"There are always brothels!" Tyrion quipped to Ned's disapproval and Roberts loud cheer.

"That and busty serving wenches!" The King continued.

I should have kept my mouth shut on that topic. Those two weren't going to stop anytime soon.

**=ASOSAT=**

**=Melisandre=**

* * *

**Dragonstone**

**Blackwater Bay**

Melisandre was in her chambers, within the castle that once was the ancestral seat of the Targaryens. It was a fitting in a way, that the Warrior of the Light now called this place home, even if he himself didn't yet know the destiny laid in front of him by their god.

She smiled and knelt before a huge brazier that dominated the center of her room. The heat of the blazing logs warmed Melisandre's heart as she looked hungrily at the dancing flames.

The fire crackled, whispering a warning. A new shadow was rising.

Melisandre leaned forward. For a moment, her eyes became the color of the fire she loved so much. And she saw it.

It was a dark night upon King's Landing. Clouds obscured the light of the stars and moons, casting the Red Citadel in darkness.

Her viewpoint shifted. She was warping from one torch towards another, spying from the flames. There was a shadow stalking through the empty halls of the Citadel. A lithe, cloaked figure. Perhaps a woman or a youth in his teens. Melisandre's eyes narrowed at the figure.

He was touched by the darkness itself. She could make no distinguishing features through the flames she was spying from.

The figure reached a sturdy metal door guarded by a pair of Baratheon banner-men. Words were exchanged and they opened the way. The figure stalked in, paying no attention when the doors closed behind them.

**=ASOSAT=**

**=Durran=**

* * *

**The Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

The night after our arrival home, I couldn't sleep. So I went for a walk after grabbing the first set of clothes I could get my hands on and strapping my sword belt. Just in case.

I walked through the halls of the castle, meeting only the odd servant or a guard, who merely gave me a bow and went their own way. I felt restless, unable to stay in one place for long. So I walked, where my legs led me, while pondering what the hell was I doing in this fucked up world. If it wasn't for the knowledge that eventually there will be undead invasion and that there might not be anyone to stop it from killing everyone, because this was fucking Westeros of all places, I would already be in Essos. It wasn't like I much cared for those people with the possible exception of the few folks that I was fond of. At best.

Getting out of this mess would have been the smart thing to do. Hell, I had contingency plans leaning in that direction at any rate.

Little did I know at the time that my life was going to get much more complicated and interesting.

I ended in front of a pair of thick wooden doors which were reinforced with steel. Two of my father's sworn men were guarding the place, clad in mail armor and proudly carrying tabards with the Baratheon sigil. For a moment I wondered where the hell I ended up until my mind dredged up the relevant information. There was a weapon's collection behind those doors. Daggers mostly, if my memory was correct. Valyrian steel ones among them.

"Hi!" I smiled brightly at the banner-men. "I would like to see the collection you are guarding so diligently."

"Your Highness." The one to the right spoke and gave me a half bow, before he nodded to his buddy and they opened the doors.

There were some benefits to be the trice damned Crown Prince. No awkward questions or barring the way. Just a polite bow and getting out of my way.

I glanced in seeing that the room was dark. So I retrieved a torch from the wall behind me and went in, the men closing the doors behind me and leaving me in peace. Something for which I was grateful.

There were two rows of tables along the walls, with cases upon them. Each one had a glass lid, making so the contents could be seen. I went to the closest one and glanced in. There was a beautifully crafted hunting knife with a dragon-bone hilt, carved in the form of raven's head. My eyes went to the blade itself, which had the distinctive rippled pattern of a Valyrian steel.

I shook my head, the restless feeling was back in full force, and I looked around. It was as if someone was watching me, while remaining unseen. It was just a feeling, my other sensed could find no trace of other occupants in the chamber. In the good old days before I ended here, I could rely on either the Force or advanced tech to check if my senses were lying to me.

No such luck nowadays.

I shrugged and strode up the row of tables. The feeling became even stronger, while subtly shifting. It was… anticipation. Frowning I looked around. It was like almost feeling a whisper, quiet enough to make you wonder if the sound was there in the first place.

The restlessness returned, prompting me to continue with my walk. There was something just not right.

I shrugged, disregarding my nervousness. Probably the guards were talking about my visit and the door was muffling almost every sound their voices were making.

At the wall across the entrance, there was only a single table with one big case on it. I walked next to it and stared. There were four blades laid at forty five degree angle. Valyrian steel and dragon-bone again. Gorgeous and tasteful craftsmanship, which was very much irrelevant.

Right then I had eyes for only one thing. The blade of the hunting knife to the right. It had four symbols engraved at the back of its blade, going from the hilt up it's length. The rest of the weapon was a mere afterthought, the pommel shaped like a roaring dragon head, and the hilt guard ended with stylized talons were of very little interest right then and there.

All I knew was the symbols. I knew them very well. And they had no place being on this world.

My right hand moved on its own volition. My fist smashed the tempered glass, which gave me a long cut. That stopped me for a moment as I stared at the wound. A drop of blood fell on the blade, over the symbol closest to the hilt. It sizzled and was absorbed in the steel.

Before my mind could kick back into gear, my right hand had reached within the shattered case and my fingers closed around the dragon-bone hilt.

I drew a rasping breath and smiled. I could barely make an unintelligible whisper at the back on my mind. A cool wind blew through my whole being. Suddenly the world around me was a bit sharper, it had more color, it felt more alive.

The feeling that someone was watching me grew exponentially. I frowned and looked around. There was no one in the chamber, save for myself, the weapon collection and the flickering shadows thrown by the torch in my left hand. I glanced at the flames, which were flickering wildly. If I didn't know better, I would have though that they actually recoiled from me before settling down in a slow burn.

Whatever. I returned my attention to the naked blade in my bleeding hand, my grip tightening around it. Then I carefully placed it back on the velvet that had been its home for countless years.

It was hard, letting go of it. The moment it was out of my grasp, I felt less. The world was back to the dull sheen it had ever since I awoke in Westeros for the first time. The reality itself looked, felt somewhat diminished. The feather caress of the Force I just felt was gone as if it was never there.

My hand struck like a lighting, my fingers instinctively closing around the hilt of the knife and I breathed out a sigh of relief. It was back. So very weak and distant, yet it was back.

At that moment, everything was right in the world. No matter what my "accidental" discovery heralded for everyone on the face of Planetos.

**=ASOSAT=**

**=Melisandre=**

* * *

**Dragonstone**

**Blackwater Bay**

Melisandre recoiled back from the fire. For a brief moment she had been looking straight into two yellow eyes. And she finally understood.

"The night is dark..." She muttered. "… and I just saw the terrors within." Melisandre shuddered. "The Darkness that is coming to swallow the dawn..." Melisandre whispered. Until this moment she thought it to be the White Walkers and their undead servants.

Now, she was no longer sure about that. There was another shadow born into the world. Another, more immediate enemy.

She had to talk with Stannis. Had to convince him of the danger that now called King's Landing it's home. Because the night is dark and her deepest shadow rises to devour the light.


	8. Chapter 3 Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Chapter 3: Welcome to the game**

**Part 1: We have a throne for sale**

* * *

**Small Council Chambers**

**Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

**The Crownlands**

I should have known better. Really. It's Westeros. For everything that goes right, for every pleasant surprise, there has to be a downside.

The next mess started the morning after we got back into the Capital and I managed to snag that Valyrian steel knife that had no job existing on this world. Yeah. The damn thing had Sith alchemical symbols engraved on it's blade and gave me the tiniest possible access to the Force. Less than an untrained Jedi youngling would have… More than could have hoped to get in this world. Which in itself was troubling. What others, potentially deadly secrets did Planetos hold?

It was a relevant question because I was starting to think that the scheduled undead invasion might not be my biggest problem. At least the Ice Zombies were at least a few year away. Right now I had to deal with more mundane, however no less deadly stuff.

Feudal politics. Those were even more frustrating than the more modern application of the craft that I had to usually deal with.

It was early morning. After a light breakfast I made my way to the Small Council Chambers, being the first to arrive. Next were Varys and Baelish, who came within moments of each other. They covered their surprise of finding me here rather well too.

"My Lords." I greeted, plastering a nice fake smile on my face. Littlefinger, the fucking traitor was a dead man walking. I just needed a convenient way to make his demise work to my advantage before offing him. The Master of Whisperers was another matter. I needed to find out who he was really working for. The Realm? The fallen Dragons? Himself or someone else?

"Your Highness!" Baelish exclaimed, giving me a smile one usually reserves for old friends. "It's a nice surprise to find you here!"

Behind him Varys theatrically rolled his eyes, making sure that I saw him do it.

"Why should it be?" I asked innocently. "Unfortunately I'm the Crown Prince now. I have personal interest in learning how my future realm is ran."

The Master of Coin continued to beam at me. However I didn't need the Force to figure out that right now he was feeling like he had bit a particularly bitter lemon.

Next to arrive was Renly, who entered with a flourish, followed by the bulky form of the Measeter Pycelle. At least the man knew how to make an entrance. I waved cheerfully at him. His good mood didn't vanish as one might expect. Yep. He wasn't thrilled that until recently I was groomed to get the Stormlands which he thought belonged to him after Stannis was sent to Dragonstone.

Fun fact. Ever since Aegorn or whatever was his name, conquered the Seven Kingdoms, there wasn't such a precedent as the one made by Robert. Because right now my "father" was both King and Lord of the Stormlands. There wasn't a law in place that said the couldn't be both. The Targaryens haven't been looking into usurping other Lords titles, which was one of the reasons they lasted as long as they did after their dragons were gone. There wasn't another dynasty on the throne since the creation of the damn thing. Which meant that right now the political situation was rather "fun", because Robert still haven't gotten around to resolving the issue.

Officially that is. It was a public secret on part with Renly's and Loras' escapades, that I had been groomed as the next Lord of Storm's End, leaving both my uncles hanging. Legally father could pull it off too, since even with Joff gone he still had another male heir. Besides the Stormlands bannermen were loyal to him fist and wouldn't make fuss about it while he was still alive. What would they do afterward would be fun. Thanks to my time among them, I could be sure that about a third of them would follow me. About the same number would go with Renly if he declared himself their rightful Lord. A few of the rest would be for Stannis and the remaining would be watching for either a good deal or who would be the most likely winner.

Now, everything was in the air. I was the fucking Crown Prince, which made the situation murkier.

"Uncle." I greeted cheerfully.

"Nephew." He said civilly. Yeah, now that I wasn't in the running to snag his ancestral lands and tittle from under him, he had reasons to be more cheerful than usual.

The Maester greeted me properly, before slumping in a nearby chair. He appeared to fall asleep after that, paying no attention to our conversation.

"So any idea who will be getting the Stormlands now?" Littlefinger couldn't help himself. Or at least he was trying to play his slip as such. Always stirring trouble, the little snake.

"My Uncle can do a splendid job." I said neutrally. Didn't say which supposed uncle either.

Rently, who assumed I meant him, gave me a small nod of approval.

Before we cold start swapping some juicy gossip, the doors opened again, letting in Eddard and Ser Selmy.

"I see that the King hasn't arrived yet." The Hand stated.

"I'm led to believe that my father seldom attends."

"Prince Durran is correct. King Robert is unlikely to be here."

Ned looked my way.

"He was going after a busty servant last I saw him." I shrugged.

Eddard winced, while Ser Selmy remained stoic. There wasn't much reaction from Renly or Varys, however Baelish was smiling knowingly, the bastard. Robert's affairs would help the incest accusations when the time came. Which would be a big problem if my real parents couldn't keep their hands and other bodily parts, and fluids to themselves. Those two idiots had made more than enough trouble already.

My right hand rested on the hilt of the knife hidden under my tunic, the contact making me a bit calmer. It enhanced a bit the tiny silver of Force I could feel, making my mind clearer.

It also made the almost unheard whispers in the back of my head a bit more tangible too.

I returned my attention to the people around me. Lord Eddard had finished swapping greetings and introductions, and was ready to start the meeting.

"What are the most important issues we need to deal with?"

"There is an Iron Bank envoy we are housing. He wants a meeting to discus payment to our debt. Then there are the rumors about Daenerys Stormborn..." Varys started speaking.

"Then there are the instructions from my brother. He wants us to hold a torney in honor of his new Hand."

"Which rumors? That she was sold by her brother to a Dothraki Warlord in exchange for an army? No rumors I'm afraid. She was married while we were in Winterfell." I looked around at the older people staring at me. "What? I've got competent agents. Don't you? It's a bloody survival requirement in this city."

Varys was nodding with approval. "That's essentially correct. There has been some upheaval at the wedding. Some kind of gift had been stolen."

Needless to say, Littlefinger looked a bit sick at the confirmation that I had spies that apparently knew what they were doing.

"Since when do you have agents, your highness?" Ned asked, giving me a cross look.

"Ever since I was thirteen. I had to expand my network when I started my little business empire. Money well spent." I declared nonchalantly.

Renly stared at me for a few seconds before he exploded with laughter. "So that's what you've been doing! We all thought you were busy chasing wenches just like your father!"

"Oh, I did that too." Actually that's what Durran had been doing, besides actually learning what the various Storm Lords were trying to teach him. There was that nice lass at… I shook my head, chasing the memory away. I had to thank the Seven or whatever gods were real around here that I actually had my family jewels in working conditions. Considering the setting I was stuck at they might have rotted away if Durran had stuck them in the wrong place. That was the main reason why I was celibate ever since finding myself in his body.

"So you have people keeping an eye on the Targaryens?" Eddard asked.

"Nah, that was pure luck. My agents were looking for useful information on a few merchants in Pentos I have interest in cutting deals with. To everyone's surprise a certain fair haired pair arrived at the residence of one of them. Then there was a wedding which was the talk of the city. Inevitable that with a whole Dothraki horde parked near their walls."

"And you mention that just now?" Littlefinger asked innocently.

"I found out last night when my people were able to report. It wasn't anything worth getting you out of bed, My Lord." I smiled at him.

"Robert will need to hear about this." The Hand slumped back in his chair.

"I hope that my father won't overreact. It's unlikely that those horse lovers will ever think about crossing the sea for just an exotic bride. If something provokes them, like a successful or botched assassination attempt..." I trailed off, letting them make their own conclusions.

"That might be unfortunately." Varys nodded. In this case he was likely to be in my corner. Working for either the Realm or the Targs, he was unlikely to support an adventure that could blow up in everyone's faces. Baelish on the other hand… I could see that his mind was already plotting, trying to find the best way to use the information I gave them.

"Let's leave that issue for later, after the King is informed. Whats this about the Iron Bank? What debts?" Ned asked, changing the topic.

Littlefinger looked sheepish. "We are in significant debt..."

"Rumor has it that Westeros owes three million gold dragons to the Iron Bank." I fixed Baelish with a flat stare. Ned did the same, glaring at the shifty man.

"Is the Prince correct?"

"Oh, no." Littlefinger paused for effect. "We are six million in debt. Half to the Iron Bank, the rest to Lord Tywin Lannister."

"So, by the time I inherit the crown and seat my arse on that iron monstrosity, I'll have to sell the damn thing so I can afford a lunch, won't I?" My words were dripping with sarcasm.

"How was this travesty allowed to happen?!" Lord Eddard asked quietly. His voice was like the whisper of a northern wind.

Baelish was ready to deflect masterfully. "My Lord Hand, the Master of Coin merely finds the money. It's the King and the Hand who spent it."

"I refuse to believe that Jon Arryn allowed this!" Now Ned all but roared at the perceived slight to his foster father.

"We advised all right." Renly interjected. "My brother didn't care. Counting coppers he called such concerns."

"We'll have to find a way to pay up. Antagonizing the Iron Bank isn't a wise move." Ned groaned. "And what's that tournament? We obviously can't afford one."

Renly gave him a sealed parchment.

"Forty thousand dragons for the champion… Twenty thousand for the winner of the melee and another twenty for the winning archer..." Ned was about to loose it.

"Can the treasury bear such additional expense?" Pycelle asked. The talk about money or the lack thereof apparently jolted the old man awake.

"My Lord Baelish, I hope that my grandfather is in a good mood. Eighty thousand." I spat the number. "Then again, there will be at least a few thousand more to arrange the damn thing too."

"There will be no tournament!" Ned slammed a fist on the table. Yep, this on top of the assassination plot I spun in front of him and Robert back in Winterfell was a bit much.

"You'll have to convince father of that, my Lord Hand."

Renly nodded sympathetically. He was obviously convinced of the futility of such errand.

"May I give a suggestion? I know it's not my place, yet..." I trailed off.

Everyone stared at me. Before someone could protest, Ned nodded and waved me to speak.

"Considering the situation, I believe that an audit will be prudent."

"That won't be necessary! I run a tight ship!"

"That would be a good way to buy ourselves a bit of time with the Iron Bank's envoy, so we can decide how to handle this issue." I continued on as if he hasn't spoken.

Finding out where were all the money Baelish had stolen would be a priority. Then he dies. I had to tweak my plans for him a bit. I had forgotten about the whole breath of the debt the crown owned. Granted half of it was to my grandfather, however even if he was supposed to be on my side I didn't want him to hold my purse strings. Or have such a debt to keep over my head when we clashed over something. Tywin was Tywin after all. Grandfather or not, I didn't trust the bastard as far as I could throw the Red Keep.

"So what else happened while we were sightseeing in the North?" I asked.

We spent the rest of the morning dealing with the petty squabbles of haughty lords. I had to open my mouth at the end, didn't I?!


	9. Chapter 3 Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**AN: A rather short chapter, but I didn't want to waste a perfectly fine cliffhanger. I hope you'll enjoy it!**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Welcome to the game**

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 2: The Tourney of the Hand**

**=Durran=**

* * *

**The Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

There was frosty mist everywhere. It engulfed the city below me like an avalanche, hiding it from sight.

It did nothing to dampen the sounds of desperate battle echoing all over the capitol. The screams of men and women, the clash of steel… More often than not, they were drowned by the thunder of primitive guns and canon.

I could see the flashes of explosions lighting up the mist, each outlining nearby buildings as if they were ghostly images.

Then the world shifted. I was in the throne room, which was filled with a handful of bannermen. The colors of their tabards were dull, letting me guess which Lord they owed allegiance to. All of them had various weapons in their hands – swords, axes, maces… Their uneasy eyes were staring at the doors, which were sealed and barricaded with whatever little furniture was within the chamber, beside the ugly Iron Throne.

My eyes swept over the King's seat of power and stopped on a smaller chair placed next to it. I could see a woman sitting there. She had a crying babe in her hands. The kid shifted in her arms and looked at me. A tiny arm waved at me and the child smiled.

I could see the baby's eyes. They were probably the clearest thing in this misty world.

They were like two sparkling emeralds.

Lannister green. Just like mine.

The world shifted again. The doors frosted over and shattered, peltering the nearby men with debris. It was quiet for the next couple of seconds, before they came.

Tall, thin figures with milky white skin. Piercing blue eyes that stared in ones soul, chilling it to the core. Thin swords, with blades that looked like they were made from glass. Or ice.

For a moment the Others stared at us. Then they charged.

I awoke with a start, my heart thundering within my chest. I looked around, my eyes sweeping around my chambers.

Fuck, it was just a dream, right? Or a Force damned vision of a future in which we got our arses handled to us on a silver platter.

Note to myself, increase the priority of preparing for the Ice Zombie apocalypse.

I groaned and got myself out from under the warm rugs. This was going to be one fucked up day, I just knew it.

**=ASOSAT=**

* * *

"Have you decided?" I asked the two men clad in the white armor of the Kingsguard.

My uncle grinned. "I was going to only joust, but if you insist..." He trailed off and patted the hilt of his sword.

My eyes turned to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Ser Selmy was looking at me through narrowed eyes. "You just want to swindle a small fortune to finance your business operations within the city." He deadpanned.

"That too. Considering that one day I will have to pay up the Crown's debts, I say that would be a prudent course of action."

The old man grumbled something and nodded.

"It's agreed then! We have a tourney to wind."

"Swindle our way through, you mean." Jamie chuckled.

"Me? Cheat?" I gave them my best innocent expression. Needless to say it didn't work. "Unless either of you has a few million Dragons lying around so we can pay up the Iron Bank? Or are you sugesting that once I'm King, I should just sell the Crown to grandfather?"

Both men winced at my words. Unfortunately they didn't disagree with that assessment.

**=ASOSAT=**

* * *

**Tournament Grounds**

**Outside of King's Landing**

Whose idea was this anyway? Ah, mine. Fuck. I need to keep someone whose primary job is to remind me not to get myself in such messes.

"Your Highness..." One of the squires assigned to me for the tourney stammered. I looked at the lad, who had my shield in his hands and was giving it to me.

Time to face the music, I guess. I grabbed the piece of laminated wood reinforced with steel and strapped it to my left hand.

Yesterday all of this sounded like a great idea. It even began as such, when in the first round I managed to unhorse a minor Knight from the Reach.

I should have known better. I wanted to shake my head at my stupidity, however it was all to late now. I was the fucking Crown Prince. I couldn't afford to quit, showing myself to have a modicum of common sense. Not when the whole fucking realm would see it as cowardice.

Even if that bastard was my opponent.

My second loaned squire gave me my lance. I took it, holding it just as the Armsmaster of Storm's End taught me.

Great idea. Riiight.

I should have stolen as much valuables as I could get away with and sailed for Essos.

I glared at my opponent. He was clad from head to toe in plate armour, heavy enough that a normal sized man won't be able to move in it.

The fucking Mountain that Rides wore it like a chainmail.

Fuck me running.

The squires scattered, getting out of the way. A trumped sounded, silencing the crowds gathered to watch us noble idiots try to off each other.

Using my legs I guided my horse forward, then spurred him into trot. Then gallop.

The fear and apprehension I felt melted away. My mind became crystal clear once my training kicked in. Adrenalin flooded my veins.

It was time to face the music.

The Mountain thundered my way, his lance pointing straight at me.

The world slowed down a bit. I could feel each bump as the horse under me galloped forward. The lance aiming to spear me was getting bigger and bigger by the moment.

Time was up.

My left hand moved on instinct, inerposing my shield between me and the implement of death ready to bury itself in my flesh. I already knew that my only real way out was to deflect the Mountain's lance. I also knew that it wouldn't be enough. The bastard was too big. There was too much mass and momentum behind his attack for my youthful form to absorb.

In the last possible moment I raised my right hand, my lance pulling up and barely missing the Mountain's shield.

His weapon slammed into my shield, shattering in a million flying pieces of timber. I could feel my arm cracking.

Then the world blinked out.

**=ASOSAT=**

* * *

**=Baristan=**

After handling the first round with ease, by dismounting ser Huge, the former squire of Jon Arryn, the Commander of the Kingsguard joined the rest of the Knights participating in the Tournament to watch the next bout. Baristan winced when the opponents were announced.

One was the Crown Prince… and his opponent was that murderous brute, Gregor Clegane. He gripped the reins of his warhorse and glared at the giant man. Baristan very much wanted to grab his lance and charge the sorry excuse of a Knight. His honor and duty demanded it. Yet the that same honor stayed his hand. Interfering would do the young Prince a disservice. It would show the realm that the leader of the Kingsguard himself had no faith in his abilities.

Baristan stood rigid, watching like a hawk how the two warriors charged each other. The Prince rode as well as one might expect, showing good technique.

Not that it was likely to be near enough. Not against that monster.

Just before the two armored men met in the middle of the tourney ground, Durran changed the aim of his lance, slipping his weapon above the Mountain's shield. The dulled piece of wood slammed into the black helmet with enough force to break through the armor before shattering and leaving it's tip sticking from it. Clegane's head snapped back, only the shape of his helmet keeping his neck from breaking. The giant man staggered from the impact and slid from his saddle, landing heavy on the ground.

The Prince was less fortunate. Baristan saw how his young charge deflected the Mountain's lance, yet there was apparently too much power behind the strike. The weapon shattered on Durran's shield and the force of the blow threw him off his saddle to land onto his back.

For a moment everyone was still, starring at the spectacle.

A moment later pandemonium ensured.

The smallfolk watching the tourney started screaming. Some in joy at seeing the Mountain humbled, other in shock at the fall of the Prince.

He winced when he saw Princess Myrcella dash from the stands and sprint towards her fallen brother, followed by her brother.

Then everything started to go to hell. The Mountain sat up, pulled the bloody piece of wood imbedded into his helmet and roared for his sword. The man's squire obeyed, sprinting with a two-hander slung over one shoulder.

Baristan didn't really think. He simply reacted, spurring his horse to move and headed towards his charge. He could see Ser Arys moving towards the Prince he was ordered to protect as well as Durran's sworn shield. The Lord Commander glanced at the rest of his sworn brothers and cursed. Two Kingsguard stood behind the King and another was making his way from the far side of the stands.

None of them were going to reach Prince Durran and the Mountain, before that madman had his sword in hand. That fucking squire was running like a rabbit chased by a hellhound. The boy reached Clegane, who drew his weapon single-handed before roaring in rage. The Mountain grabbed his sword with both hands and swung, decapitating his horse with a single slash. He looked around and stared at Durran who was still on the ground, with Myrcella kneeling next to him.

"Fuck!" Baristan spat when the Mountain headed towards the Royal children. The huge bastard was moving faster than anyone as big as him should be able to.

Baristan saw the King ponderously rising, shouting something, but his words were drowned by the screams of the crowds.


	10. Chapter 3 Part 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Chapter 3: Welcome to the game**

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 3: A Mountain falls**

**=The Mountain that Rides=**

* * *

**Tournament Grounds**

**Outside of King's Landing**

Red haze and searing pain engulfed his world. Then, there was the rage that had always been his closest companion. It was no longer kept in check.

His left eye wasn't working. His right was seeing as if through a crimson mist. No matter. It was all right. He had a blade in hand and rage boiling through his veins.

All was as it should be.

The Mountain looked around. His fury was whispering in the back of his head. Ah. There was the little shit that had the temerity to hurt him.

Clegane grinned. There were two small forms next to the fucker he had knocked straight off the saddle. Splendid. More people to kill.

He strode forward, glaring at the flimsy wooden parapet that was barring him from his next kills. He slung his sword, which felt surprisingly light in his hands. The Mountain shrugged off that thought. It was normal. Every single time he was about to slaughter someone in the midst of passion, his sword arm felt stronger, his weapons lighter, easier to swing.

It made killing easier. So he could slaughter more people.

Just as it should be.

His blade slashed through the fresh wood as if it was butter. A backhand swing from his armored left arm and the way was clear.

The Mountain's smile became even more vicious, when his brain finally registered the annoying noise he's been hearing for some time.

Screams of horror. That was music for his ears.

The fuck that he was about to gut finally stirred. He was shouting something, but the mountain paid it no heed. The man was probably squealing for mercy. Heh. As if he had any.

His next victim managed to sit up and push one of the small forms, the kids away. He shouted something to the boy, who looked deliciously terrified. The girl's tears made it even better. It was too bad that she wasn't screaming in terror. Yet.

Clegane raised his sword as if it was a toy and swung down. He wanted to see the fucker sheared in two.

It came as a surprise when his latest victim managed to roll in the mud, barely avoiding the blade.

The Mountain bellowed in fury. He was going to tear the little fuck into pieces!

He struck again and the bastard managed to roll again. Little shit!

Clegane was about to start another strike, this time horizontal so the fuck couldn't get away, when he felt something. His instincts screamed of danger and he swung to the right, his blade tearing through the air. A horse shrieked in pain and terror. The animal stumbled with its throat cut and threw off it's rider. The horse collapsed barely missing Clegane and his target. The Mountain chuckled when he saw a man in pale armor flying through the air.

Then he roared in pain when something hard slammed into his manhood. The Mountain's eyes snapped towards his intended victim and saw him retrieving an armored leg, which he was pulling back for another kick. Before he could react, the sole of the steel boot slammed in his loins again.

The heavily armored man stumbled to his knees. For a moment the crimson haze lifted, battered away by wave of pain and feeling sick. Then the fury returned with vengeance, the agony in his manhood washing away on a tidal wave of pure rage. He roared at the heavens and stood up, using his sword to pull up his bulk. In the meantime, his target had managed roll over and was on his knees, trying to stand up.

Clegane was about to skewer the fuck when he sensed someone approaching and turned, his sword already moving to gut the next distraction. There was another man in a familiar looking white plate, who a sword in hand. The Mountain growled when the damn pest managed to stop in time and stumble back, barely avoiding the sweeping arc of his sword. There was another man sprinting in their direction, wearing a black tabard with silver stag on it. That one had a sword and shield.

The Mountain laughed. More fools to slaughter. He moved forward, his intended victim forgotten for the moment. Steel met steel in a thunderous clash and Clegane frowned. The fuck in white armor managed to block his strike and kept a hold of his blade. No matter. He was going to die anyway. The two-hander sang again, sweeping in a deadly arc. This time the heavy, bloodthirsty blade would not be so easily denied. Clegane's strike smashed through the guard of his opponent, the longsword of the Kingsguard proving out to be less than adequate defense. The smaller blade was battered aside and the two-hander slammed at the plate protecting Ser Arys' shoulder. The white armor did it's job, preventing the strike for severing the Kingsguard left hand.

However, the force behind the strike would not be denied. A sickening crack could be head as the loyal knight was forced on his knees from the titanic blow.

Ser Arys' shout of pain as his shoulder was smashed was a music for the Mountain's ears. The giant of a man swung again, determined to decapitate the wounded knight, only to stagger when his attack was met by steel-reinforced shield. The wooden board cracked by the impact, which threw its owner back, yet it did it's job.

Clegane snarled when his kill was denied again. He wasted no time and went on the offensive, battering the shield again and again. His fourth strike shattered it and threw the man that wielded it to the ground. The Mountain raised his sword with a roar of triumph, ready to cut in half the third fucker that tried to stop his fun.

His below turned into one of agony when fiery pain slashed through the back of his right knee. For a moment Clegane remained on his feet, then the pain exploded further as whatever that had stabbed him was rotated in the wound, destroying his joint. The Mountain screamed in pain and fell on his knees.

A lesser man would have been incapacitated by the agony. Even Clegane might have been if it wasn't for the red haze that was consuming his existence. He roared again and turned, using his hale leg as leverage. His left hand swept in an arch, backhanding whoever cowardly attacked him from behind. He felt a satisfying crunch of steel hitting steel and heard someone falling in the mud. The Mountain used his great sword as a cane so he could turn towards the fuck that had the temerity to wound him. His one still working eye glared at the armored figure that laid prone in the mud. He could see that the fucker's helmet was dented on the side he backhanded him and grinned. It was time to finish that.

He could feel it. There were more bastards coming at him, ready to fuck up with his fun. That simply wouldn't do. He could see a pair of men clad in that white armor wadding his way. The fucks weren't going to be fast enough. Neither the bastards in red or black who were converging on his position. He was going to finish the three cunts that dared attack him and then deal with the rest.

He was the Fucking Mountain that Rides! It wasn't like a bunch of weaklings could bring him down, wounds or no wounds!

Clegane raised his great sword, ready to gut his original target when he heard thunder. Acting on instinct he tried to turn around, when a battering ram struck just behind his right shoulder and threw him in the mud. The agony in his wounded knee flared to new heights and he screamed in pain.

The red haze finally shattered, just like the tourney lance that sent him in the mud.

For a few brief moments, Clegane's mind was clear. Memories surged back and he remembered where he was.

"FUCK!" He spat while trying to sit up.

"Sword!" Spat a familiar voice filled with so much hatred that gave even him a pause.

The Mountain managed to sit up just in time to see the armored form of Prince Durran receive a naked blade from a Kingsguard. The boy grabbed it with his right hand and took an unsteady step towards him. Clegane raised a hand to protect himself. His mouth opened to say something. Then the blade flashed forward, a ray of sun sparkling over the blade and blinding his good eye.

The Mountain felt a moment of pain as something tore through the front of his face and then he knew only darkness.


	11. Chapter 3 Parts 4&5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Chapter 3: Welcome to the game**

**Part 4: A different perspective**

**=Tyrion=**

* * *

**Tournament Grounds**

**Outside of King's Landing**

If he had to be honest with himself, there were precious few times when Tyrion really regretted being a dwarf. It wasn't because he was short. Nope. It wasn't because most of his relatives either hated or pitied him. It was because of the few times he was unable to do something, because he was simply not strong or fast enough thanks to his shunted statute.

That was one of his moments.

Tyrion watched with growing horror how his favorite nephew was about to get gutted along with Cela and Tommen, while he was unable to do a damn thing. He could see how the Kingsguard were wadding like bloody ducks in their plate armor, too slow to intervene. Most of the Lannister and Baratheon men providing security apparently were too far away or unaware of what was happening, and as far as anyone was concerned, the fucking Gold Cloaks might have been non-existent.

The Imp perked up when Durran stirred and awoke. His favorite nephew pushed Tommen towards Myrcella, probably shouting them to get away. Then the fucking Mountain was upon him, swinging his damned oversized sword at the prince. The blade somehow missed when Durran managed do roll away. Tyrion was frozen in place, when the bloody giant swung away and missed a second time.

It was almost enough to make him believe in the Seven.

"Fuck!" Tyrion swore aloud. The rest of the people in the Lords lodge were panicking and standing up, cutting his view.

He was on his feet and moving, getting up the stand so he could get a better view. It wasn't like he could get down it time to do anything besides being a comic distraction.

On his way up, Tyrion passed the King and his two attending Kingsguards who were pushing their way through the crowd of distressed lords and ladies, until he was high enough to see what was happening. He could see another dead horse and a man in the distinctive white plate of the Kingsguard laying in the mud. For a moment he was afraid that it was Jamie, but then the short graying hair registered. Ser Selmy.

Tyrion's mismatched eyes darted towards the Mountain and saw him battering the shield of Durran's man, Marrek. There was another Kingsguard laying in the mud, Ser Oakheart if he wasn't mistaken.

There were guards moving towards the fighting men, but they were too far away, too slow in their armors. The Imp swore when a powerful blow shattered Marrek's shield and sent the man tumbling to the ground. Tyrion's eyes widened when he saw his nephew dashing towards the Mountain, a knife flashing in his hand. Durran moved low and slammed the blade in the back of Clegane's right knee, then twisted, bringing the giant down.

Tyrion grinned, half mad that his nephew didn't do the sensible thing and ran away, half proud that he had brought that fucker low.

The Mountain moved like a viper, half turning and his left hand flashed in a blinding fast movement. The smile froze on Tyrion's face. He saw the side of Durran's helmet dent and his head snap to the side. The young man fell to the ground as if his legs were cut from underneath him.

The Kingsguards and various bannermen were getting closer and closer.

Not fast enough.

Tyrion watched with a sick fascination how Clegane turned around, despite his destroyed knee and prepared to gut Durran. Then the Mountain was smashed aside by a lance that shattered on his back. Tyrion's eyes widened and followed the rider, who was doing his best to stop his horse and turn around. It was Jamie, clad in his golden armor.

Sudden silence engulfed the tourney grounds. Everyone was starring at the prone figures of Clegane and Durran. The Prince was the first to stumble to his feet, with the Mountain trying to get up moments later. The pair of Kingsguards that were closer were upon the giant, pointing their naked blades at the monster.

"SWORD!" Durran growled with such hatred that gave everyone pause.

Ser Preston Greenfield, who was closest to Durran, looked at the Crown Prince, before he gave him his weapon, hilt first.

Tyrion's nephew gave the Knight a stiff nod, took the weapon and strode up to the Mountain, who had gotten to his knees. Durran was cradling his left hand next to his chest, but his right was apparently all right. Without saying anything, the Prince shoved the sword through the vision port of Clegane's helmet and twisted before placing a leg on the giant's chest plate and pushing back, pulling out the blood and brain's covered blade.

For a few long moments everyone just stared at the Prince who felled the mountain. It started slowly, quietly. Then it picked up speed and volume.

First were the smallfoks, then a few of the guards, before it became an avalanche.

"Durran! Durran! DURRAN!" The crowds started chanting.

"That's him! That's my son! MY SON!" Robert's joyful roar swept over the stands. "OURS THE FURY!"

**=ASOSAT=**

* * *

**Part 5: Aftermath**

**Tournament grounds**

**King's Landing**

"This could have gotten better." Durran groaned. "Yo, Tommen, Cella, are you two all right?" The Crown prince shouted, yet his voice was barely a whisper above the chant of the crowd.

"That's actually a good question. Where the fuck are my niece and other nephew?!" Tyrion shouted, for all the good it did. He started cursing and wadding through the crowd. Yep. Now that the danger was over, everyone appeared to be down in the dirt, asking questions.

"I'll live! Where are my siblings?" Durran roared. This time it was loud enough to be heard.

The knights who had made their way to the Prince started looking around. Or at lest he hoped so. Tyrion was a bit busy making his way around the Mountain's decapitated horse, while doing his best not to be trampled by various concerned parties.

"I'll find them." Jamie shouted from atop his horse. The Imp's brother had made his way back after lancing Clegane.

"Stop bloody gawking and call in a Maester or two! We have wounded here!" Durran growled.

"Move away, damn you!" Robert roared from near the stands. Ah, so he too decided to join the circus. Under different circumstances, Tyrion might have found the whole situation amusing. Considering what just happened, it was anything but.

Tyrion walked under what was left of the wooden parapet dividing the Jousting field in two, sidestepped a Kingsguard and was finally able to see Durran up close. His nephew was coated in dust and held his left arm up to his chest. The plate arm-guard was dented, probably biting in the flesh too. Damn. That had to hurt.

"Ah, Uncle." Durran glanced his way as if he knew Tyrion had arrived. "Do me a favor, you and Jamie go find my brother and sister. I think that they went that way." He nodded towards the low wooden fence behind which the smallfolk were gathered.

"No need. I can see them. Get here, you rascals!" Jamie shouted from his horse and pointed at something Tyrion couldn't see.

"That's my son!" Robert roared again, pushing his way through the increasing crowd. The King made his way up to Durran and grabbed the poor youngster in a bear hug. Ouch.

"Fuck, watch the arm!" Durran groaned.

"Nonsense! It's just a scratch!" Robert slammed a paw in his son's back, shaking him despite the heavy armor he was wearing. Then the King grabbed Durran's hale hand and pulled it in the air. "My SON! I'm proud of you!" Robert roared for all to hear.

Well, the King had a point, Tyrion mussed. With Joffrey being, well himself, and the other kids growing under his shadow and Cersei's insane coddling, it wasn't like there was any chance for them to make Robert proud. He almost smiled at the thought of Joffrey facing the Mountain on horseback. Then again, he would be soon treated by the sight of his dear sister loosing when she learned of what just happened. He had to be there to watch.

When Durran managed to get away from his father, the Prince went up to his sworn sword, who was still lying on the dirt. "You still alive down there?"

"Urghh… That cunt broke my arm.!" The wounded man groaned.

"Mine too. I think. Hurt like it anyway. How are Sers Selmy and Oakeheart?" Durran turned to the bystanders. Ser Greenfield was kneeling near the latter, checking him up.

"Durran!" A small, blonde missile tried to tackle the Prince, hitting his armored form with a resounding ding, almost bouncing from him. "Oww… You hurt..." She pouted.

"Hey, you all right, sweetling?" Durran chuckled and ruffed her hair.

"You got hurt! You promised you'll be all right!" The princess an accusing finger at her brother's face.

"Just a little bit. Where's Tommen?"  
Myrcella shrugged and pointed behind her back. Sure enough, the younger prince was there, with a dismounted Jamie walking a step behind.

"Well at least you two are all right. Father, may I make a suggestion?"

"What is it? Do you need a few sculls to bash?"

"Perhaps later. The men who came with that." Durran nodded at the cooling corpse of the Mountain. "I think it would be prudent if some guardsmen go see if they are up to no good. Clegane was the only thing keeping them in line and he just tried to kill not only me but my siblings too. That's attempted regicide, something he's well known for."

The assembled lords and knights took a pause at those words. Then they exploded with excited chatter.

'Durran what the fuck are you up to now?!' Tyrion wondered.

"Guards! Get the cunts! I want them in the black cells!"

This was going to get ugly.

**=ASOSAT=**

* * *

**Royal Quarters**

**Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

"Get out of my way!" Cersei screech could be heard echoing through out the citadel.

"Ah. Someone told mum." Durran groaned.

"Please stay still, your Highness." The Grand Maester chided, while pocking Durran's brutalized arm.

"You know, I'm not sure I've seen this particular shade of purple before." Tyrion quipped from behind the Maester.

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine today, uncle. Give me a goblet of that wine before you've drank it all."

"You sure? The Maester can give you milk of the poppy. It will be better for the pain..." Tyrion tried. The wine was sweet Dornish, some of the best he had ever tried. Besides it wasn't like Durran could really appreciate it, he'll be soon slumbering anyway.

"Give it here. I don't need milk of the poppy." His nephew made a face at the thought.

"Fine. It's on your head. Don't go complaining to me if it hurts."

Durran grabbed the offered goblet with a snort, before sampling the wine.

"Move! I need to see my son!" This time Cersei's screech came from behind the door.

"This will be fun." Durran groaned.

The door was opened and shoved away with enough strength to make it slam in the wall. Pycelle jumped at the sound, earning himself a growl from his patient.

"Durran, gods what did you do to yourself?!" Cersei exclaimed once she saw his arm.

"Me? Nothing. That's all the Mountain's fault." Durran waved at his left hand. "The fuck tried to go after Tommen and Myrcella too." He added.

"WHAT?!"

Oh, my. Father isn't going to enjoy this, something that Tyrion approved of on general principle. What confused him were Durran's motives for stirring even more trouble after Clegane's epic fuck up.

"I'll see him dead!" Cersei growled. Furious fires burned in her eyes.

"Already taken care of, mum. Do you really think that I'll let someone threaten my siblings and live?"

"Good." Cersei's severe expression softened a bit as her fury was slowly replaced by worry. She went to her son and hugged him, while being careful not to nudge his wounded arm.


	12. Chapter 3 Part 6 and Interlude

**AN: This part was fixed by Uriel and daimahou on spacebattles forums. Thank you for the great work!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Chapter 3: Welcome to the game**

**Interlude: No more Gold Cloaks**

* * *

**Royal Quarters**

**The Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

"That's surprising. I didn't expect that many volunteers." Well, unless there were proper Imperial agents motivating the sorry bastards, but those were conspicuously missing upon Planetos. I gave a thoughtful look to Marrek who had a proud smile on his face. Then again, I did have a few men who could make the cut with their obvious enthusiasm for the job at hand. "What exactly did you do, my friend?"

The smile morphed into a vicious grin. "Took your teachings to heart, my prince."

"Did you now?" A beginning of a smile was tugging the corners of my lips. "This I got to hear."

"Well, it was your plan in the first place, your Highness."

"Marrek, dispense with the flattery unless there is someone who really gives a damn about it. We've spoken about it many, many times." I growled at my right hand man.

He smirked and nodded. He was doing it on purpose the bastard.

"As you wish, sir. As you know, last night we had Slynt order all the Goldies back to their barracks while Baratheon and Northern bannermen took charge of the city gates and protecting the keep. We had units converge on the barracks, led by men who knew who the most likely troublemakers were."

Yeah, my agents in the city were rather busy little spies while we were freezing our arses in the North. When we returned I had to have a lot of meeting to get back up to speed with what was happening in the capital.

"The worst were apprehended and dealt with without too much trouble. All except at the barracks at the River and Lion's gates."

"Those were supposedly the worst." I nodded. Still, the preliminary report was that of a stunning success, though I would have to deal with the fallout anyway. Even with the King and Hand behind me on this little scheme, there would be a lot of nervous Lords with wounded egos in a need of reassurance that we didn't plan any dastardy deeds. Especially those who were spending a lot of gold on the former city watch, though most of those were doing so because of mostly harmless business interest.

"Well, the Mud gate Goldies were a handful." Marrek nodded. He had chosen to lead that particular raid, because it promised to be the most troublesome. Those particular gold cloaks were for all intents and purposes a small mercenary band run by their officers and answering only to them. Which was not only a fucking disgrace but a damn dangerous for the city I was stuck in.

"So they didn't like the changes?"

"Heh. When it was clear that we were going to be arresting all their officers and most of their sergeants it went ugly. Just as we planned it. Though you never explained why you wanted us to do it in such a way that it would guarantee bloodshed."

"I wanted an example made of. It's no longer business as usual in this city. Considering that we are stuck in here, I want this place reasonably secure. That means city guard that can be counted on. Not a bunch of mercenaries in all but name who could be bought by the highest bidder."

"Well, the easy part is done. Now making those men into what you consider proper soldiers..." Marrek trailed off. He wasn't really convinced that the former goldies cold be made into a proper military.

While I've done it with much lesser quality of personnel before, then I had the benefit of some real hard ass imperial NCOs. Here and now, I had a bunch of knights who were actually competent as well as some carefully chosen mercenaries, led by a former New Ghis Centurion.

They would have to do, though I intended to take a hand in the shaping of the Royal Guards. After all, I wanted them to not only be the best fighting force that this backwards world has ever seen, but to be my bunch of professional killers too.

"So how did you get me so much volunteers. from the Mud gate? Spill."

Marrek gave me a toothy grin. "Well, first there was the little scrap. The Goldies didn't do too well against a two dozen heavy infantry who knew what they were doing. The crossbows were a nice touch. We shot a bunch of the bastards, before it got close and personal. Then there was the second group of crossbowmen who entered when the scrap was ongoing. One aimed salvo and the fight was out of the cunts."

"Then you went in and charmed all the survivors to join the Royal Guard?" I asked.

"In a manner of speaking..."

**=ASOSAT=**

* * *

**Gold Cloaks Barrack's **

**Near the Mud Gate**

**King's Landing**

"Well, that's done." Marrek smiled thinly at the gold cloaks.

None of them was brave enough to look him in the face. The bunch of dead men thrown in the middle of the large, but cramped room had something to do with it. The naked and bloody blade in his hands helped too.

But most importantly, the two dozen accomplished killers at his back, who would follow his lead without asking any questions sealed the deal.

What remained of this district's contingent of "city guards" lived or died at his convenience. If it was up to him, Marrek would have simply executed the whole bunch of corrupt cunts and gotten himself busy searching for another source of ready manpower to tap for his prince's plans. Preferably reliable men. On the other hand, he wasn't particularly regretting the lack of further bloodshed. After that mess with the Mountain last week, the sworn shield wasn't his usual deadly self. A few cracked bones and persisting headache would do that to a man.

"Laddies..." Marrek's smile become a tiny bit wider. "Prince Durran, the merciful fella he is, decided that some of you can redeem yourselves in the eyes of the crown. I'm here to make sure it happens." He beamed at the disarmed gold cloaks. For some reason the front rank took a step back colliding with those behind them.

Damn undisciplined scum…

"If it was up to me..." Marrek shrugged and nodded at the pile of corpses in the middle of the barracks, which was made up by the most corrupt and vile of the lot. They weren't particularly thrilled when the knight and his men began straightening the city watch and abruptly ended the rather lucrative grafts, and protection rackets most of the so called officers were running. Needless to say, most of those and their yes men were dealt with. Well, with the notable exception of the man who used to run this particular bunch of scum. That fella was in the black cells being asked some pointed questions.

"As I said, or Crown Prince is a reasonable and downright merciful man. So you lot have whole three choices." Marrek beamed at the sorry excuses for city guards. "First is the most pious one, so I doubt that any of you will choose it. It's the customary trip to the Wall, so you can spent the rest of your short miserable lives freezing what passes for your manhood in the North."

A bunch of sullen looks was the only answer he got. Damn, this was fun.

"Next, you decide to be unreasonable bunch of cunts and joint this lot." Marrek pointed his bloody sword at the pile of corpses. "No takers? Pity." He gave the survivors of the purge a disappointed look. "Now, choice number three." The smile became downright vicious. "You laddies become volunteers. for the newly established Royal Guard, who will be responsible for the protection of this city and the surrounding countryside. If you got the guts to step up and finally do your seven damned duty, there will be some perks. Three guaranteed meals a day and a decent payment. However if any of you thinks that it will be work as usual, there will be no second chances." Marrek nodded at the corpses. "No taking the black. Just a sharp blade and the offenders getting shortened by a head. Decide. Now."

* * *

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 6: Meeting the Rose**

* * *

**King's Road**

**Near King's Landing**

"Remind me, whose brilliant idea was this?" I asked from atop a miserable warhorse. At least my ride wasn't decked up in heavy armor, though I don't imagine that he particularly liked being ridden in this heat.

Did I mention that? From what little I remember from the show, it wasn't supposed to be this hot in the vicinity of King's Landing. The trouble is that someone apparently forgot to sent that memo to the weather, because it felt like 40 C. In the damn shade near the King's Road where I was stuck with a small party, awaiting one of my possible brides.

"You wanted to get out of the damn stench." Marrek, who was commiserating nearby quipped. "Or was it getting away from her Grace?"

"It felt like a good idea at the time." I muttered. Actually it felt like a splendid idea after another afternoon of Cersei hovering around me and being "helpful"...

"How did you managed to escape?" My Sworn Shield decided to twist the knife.

"I owe Cella one for that." I muttered under my nose.

"What was that?" He needled again.

"Marrek, you are straying dangerously close to volunteering for the next unpleasant task that rears its ugly head."

"That wasn't an answer, your Highness." My Knight stated smugly.

Yep. I needed to find something unpleasant that suddenly needed doing.

The sorry remains of my dignity were saved by the arrival of the Reach outriders, who were about a league in front of the rest, making sure that everything was all right. Huh. Some measure of healthy paranoia.

Beside me Marrek nodded in approval.

When they noticed us, the riders abruptly stopped and exchanged words before heading our way at a more sedate pace. If their tabard were anything to go by, they were Tyrell bannermen, led by a few knights I was unfamiliar with.

I put my best fake smile as the Reachers approached. It was time for meet and greet.

A few pleasantries later, we were escorted to the main procession, to meet the important people. Surprise, surprise, the Tyrells actually had a pair of rather small, sensible coaches, followed by a bunch of supply carts and a lot of riders. Nothing like the travesty that was our own royal column on the way to Winterfell and back. That and the sensible spread of outriders won the Reachers a few points in my book.

"You're a lucky man." Marrek muttered next to me, quiet enough that only I could hear him. I raised and eyebrow and followed the way he was looking. That was a group of riders just in front of the leading coach. A rather large and wide man was in the middle. That had to be Mace Tyrell. His face was familiar from a visit a long time ago. What, or rather who, had Marrek's attention, was the person riding next to Mace.

Yep. Margaery Tyrell was most definitely the most eligible woman in the seven kingdoms even before you got to the important part of whose daughter she was. Let me tell you, here and now she looked simply stunning.

I had to actually close my eyes, take a deep breath and use some of the mental exercises I've been taught back when some utter bastards were busy making me a proper murderous Sith in order to calm down.

At that moment I had a revelation. I was in a bloody teenage body and the damn hormones were out to play. Well, this was going to be "fun".

When I opened my eyes a few moments later I pointedly didn't look at the snug, nearly transparent dress Margaery was wearing. I was trying very hard not to think about the curves snugly hugged by so very thin sheet of silk that… I shook my head. Damn, this was going to be hard. I wasn't a god damned teenager, fuck it all!

Think about that body! A treacherous voice whispered at the back of my head.

A burst of anger and grabbing as much of the Dark Side as I could, which admittedly was a tiny amount, and I was somewhat calm as the cool presence of the Force flowed through me, clearing my head.

Those never sufficiently damned hormones… I seethed for a moment. Then I straightened up and fixed my fake smile.

It took a few seconds for Mace to recognize me, he at least had seen me in the past, before his face lit up like a Stardestroyer's engine at flank speed. He beamed at me. "Your Highness! Such and unexpected and pleasant surprise!"

"My Lord Tyrell. My Lady, Margaery. It's been far too long!" I gave them a respectful half bow while I was still on the horse.

Margaery gave me a demure smile. I had the barest hint of warning, thanks to the mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"My Prince!" She exclaimed in a honeyed voice and gave me a very proper and respectful bow. Considering that we were rather close by now, that gave me a rather nice view of her breasts.

Damn, minx. If I was actually Durran, she wound undoubtedly have had me securely tied up around her little finger. In a fortnight at best.

I swallowed the first words that came to my tongue, they were rather improper for the society I found myself stuck in. Instead I drew on all the proper education that Durran had received as well as my own rather vaster experience, and started buttering up the Tyrells like a champ.

A couple of minutes later, Mace had a grin plastered on his face and was emphatically nodding, hanging on my words. Meanwhile, Margaery had a rather forced smile on her face, on that most people would have mistaken for the genuine thing. She was good, very good for someone her age, if still somewhat inexperienced.

It remained to be seen if her mind would rival or if I was lucky surpass her beauty.

The meet and greet was interrupted by a rather harsh bellow of "Mace!" coming from the nearest coach. "Won't you be a nice boy and introduce our visitors?"

Oh, my. I gave Lord Tyrell a rather pointed look. He had to bring the Queen of Roses, didn't he? While I had professional interest in meeting the woman, her presence was likely to make any negotiations for Margeary's marriage much more interesting.

On the other hand, if I was somehow able to arrange for Lady Olenna being on the other side of the Kingdom from Mace, the poor bastard would owe me big time… Hmm…

"Ah, right." The Lord of the Reach flustered and got out of his stupor. "I believe you have the pleasure of knowing my Lady Mother?" He stammered.

"We were introduced during my visit to Highgarden all those years ago." I nodded.

"Yes, ten years, was it?"

"Something like that." I grinned at Margaery. "So they somehow managed to make a proper Lady of you, My Lady?" I asked. The little girl I very vague remembered was more akin to the way Arya was portrayed than what I knew of Margaery from this time period.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, my Prince." She bathed her eyelashes at me, still smiling in that demure way. "I've always been a proper Lady."

Uh-huh. That mischievous glint in her eyes told me another story. That girl had potential.

"If you insist." My smile actually genuine and reached my eyes for the first time since we were introduced. "Far be for me to gainsay a lady such as you."

Her brown eyes glinted with humor. "By the Seven you're already developing the proper habit of agreeing with me."

"Arrogant," I chided but with no real heat; something my eyes reflected because she tilted her head back and gave a tinkling laugher.

Damn, her voice was tugging strings I forgot that existed in my dark, cold heart.

"Merely confident," she stated primly.

"I think it will be for the best if I reintroduced you to my mother, your Highness." Mace sounded resigned.

Considering how Cersei has been acting lately I was rather sympathetic.

"Yes, lets." I guided my horse towards the coach. "Lady Redwyne! It's been far too long since we met!" I exclaimed.

So this was probably the most dangerous woman on the damn continent. On first sight she reminded me of a Sith Lord I knew about a hundred years ago or so. Perhaps I should be thanking all existing and non existing gods that she didn't have the Force at her disposal.

"Prince Durran!" Olenna gave me something that appeared to be a genuine grandmotherly smile.

I blinked at her still smiling. I couldn't sense subrefuge coming from her. She was actually glad to see me.

"Please be kind to an old woman like myself and ride with me the rest of the way." She did her best to look frail and fragile. While the Queen of Thorns was a rather small, gnarled little thing, she was anything but weak. Or frail.

"Margaery, be a dear and join us, dear."

Ah. Shit. This was going to be an interrogation so Olenna could decide if I would be good enough for her favorite granddaughter… and she would be doing her best to get me killed if I didn't make the cut.

"With Lord Tyrell's permission?" I asked Mace.

He looked relieved. "Naturally, my Prince. Be my guest. I'll make sure that your party have some refreshments." He waved me to enter the coach and excused himself.

Marrek, who got the reins of my horse before I dismounted wished me a quiet "Good luck." and smirked, the bastard. Yeah, riding with a stunning young woman who might very well be my wife. From his point of view I was a lucky bastard no doubt. Being grilled by Olenna Redwyne on the other hand…

Damn, I missed the good old days when I had to only deal with a galaxy wide war and could leave most of the politics to other people.

Moments later I was sitting on the bench across the two Tyrell women and the interrogation was ready to commence.


	13. Chapter 4 Parts 1&2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Chapter 4: Of political marriages and other shenanigans**

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 1: Inquisition**

**A certain Coach,**

**The King's Road**

**Near King's Landing**

I had my best smile plastered on my face and gracefully accepted the goblet of wine, that Margaery offered me.

It was all a mask, which covered my chaotic thoughts. Seeing her again, brought back some of Durran's memories, and they refused to stop flashing in front of my eyes.

On the bright side, it appeared that we were friends as kids, which was bound to give me a few bonus points in the Tyrel's books. On the other hand, it made it hard to concentrate on the topic at hand – something that wasn't good at all. To make my life even more _interesting, _my hormones decided that Margaery was a splendid specimen of the female persuasion and were busy rearing their ugly heads, reminding me that I was stuck in a teenage body for the next few years. I had to use all my willpower to tear my eyes from the nearly transparent dress that she was wearing. The damn thing left very little to the imagination and made sure that I was very well aware how beautiful Margaery was.

Undoubtedly just as planned.

I smiled at my hosts. Playing that game obviously put me at disadvantage right now. So it was time to change the rules.

"Ladies," I beamed at my hosts. "Some polite small talk as it's proper or shall we go straight to business while we can speak candidly? Once we arrive, finding a place without curious ears would prove tiring."

"That's very forward of you, Your Highness!" Margaery bathed her eyelashes my way, and gave me a stunning smile, making my heart beat a bit faster.

Damn you, hormones!

"I'll admit it's a bit less subtle than the performance you've been doing for my benefit the last few minutes. I'll admit I appreciate the view."

Margaery's smile never left her face, though she gave me a narrowed look before chuckling.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Durran."

"No. Of course not. You're not trying to twist the head of this poor, impressionable young prince, are you, my dear?" I asked.

"Is it working?" Margaery gave me a genuine smile and leaned forward.

"Definitely. I can honestly swear that you're the most beautiful woman in Westeros." It was probably the truth too, though thanks to Durran's memories, who might have had a crush on her as a kid, I was biased. "That by itself won't be enough to get you on the throne as the future Queen." I let my smile bleed off my face until it was serious. At the same time, I was being careful not to ogle Margaery's curves, which were very… curvy in all the right places.

Damn, I needed to get laid, though this being Westeros, I wasn't too keen on visiting a brothel or sampling the servants in the keep. Even with a silver of the Force back, you never know what you might catch.

"Of course not." Lady Olena smirked. "It does help make you mind though."

"True enough. Given that I can't escape a political marriage, actually finding a spouse who's stunning would be a bonus. Though I can't imagine that Margaery likes being displayed like a filly for sale." I nodded at my prospective bride.

She gave me a demure smile. "Oh, I have no problem showing off my beauty." Margaery said lightly.

I almost bought it, though I did saw a shadow pass through her eyes while she spoke. I was sure that her statement was factually true, though she wasn't exactly thrilled at being ordered to parade herself.

That by itself put her heads and shoulder above a lot of the ladies I've me since ending up in this world.

"Let's talk politics then." I turned my attention to Olena, though I did keep an eye on Margaery's reactions as well. There was no sense in pissing her off without a need.

"Bold." The Queen of Thorns nodded at me. Her frail facade didn't convince me for a second that she was anything but a dangerous woman. "And refreshing. What do you have in mind, Your Highness?"

"What does the Reach expect to gain from Margaery becoming a Queen?" I asked.

"Why, that would be its own reward. I just want the best for my grand-daughter." Olena smiled at me.

I studied her for a few moments. It was as true statement as those go.

I couldn't help myself but smirk. As a Sith I knew very well how to deceive and mislead by using nothing more than the truth. In fact that was what I preferred to do. Outright lying – that was kept for special cases. After all a reputation for being honest was a great asset when you really needed a lie to be bought as a gospel truth.

From what I remembered reading about this world and from Durran's impressions about Olena, I knew that she wanted the best for Margaery, who was her favorite grandchild.

That didn't meant that she would be aiming for anything less than the best deal for the Reach.

"What do you want in a Queen, Your Highness?" Margaery asked in a smoky voice that sent pleasant shivers running up and down my spine.

For a moment my mouth was dry and I had to fight to tear my sight from her twinkling eyes. I used a mental exercise to help focus my mind.

"Many things." I was surprised how steady and nonchalant my voice sounded. "However, with the world we live being as it is, it's more about what her family could do for me once I'm King that's more important." In the short term at least. For the long… I had no intention to keep relying on a damn feudal system. It was too bad that I would probably need to burn a significant part of this world before I could start fixing it in a way I wanted.

"And what they would want in exchange." Olena finished.

"True. So we are back to my question. What does the Reach want to achieve with an union between Margaery and me?"

Olena sipped from her wine. "There're a few concessions I could think of..." She trailed off.

"Me too. What a coincidence..." I smiled pleasantly and tried the wine.

It was good. Very good. Strong too. The type you could down a few glasses and get a bit tipsy and unfocused, without even notice.

A point for deviousness goes to the ladies. If Margaery had inherited her grandmother's skills in politics and deception, she might prove a joy to marry in so many ways.

Dangerous too, if I pissed her off. My type of woman.

I allowed myself a genuine smile. It was time for some bargaining.

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 2**

**A certain Coach,**

**The King's Road**

**Near King's Landing**

"I can honestly say that I have no problem with your propositions, Lady Olena." I said. My eyes were roving around the coach, while I was trying not to stare at Margaery.

Everything was covered with expensive fabrics, most of which were expertly embroiled with rose motifs. No surprise there. The seats were rather comfortable too – or at least as good as they could be made with current tech. If the coach was moving with anything approaching respectable speed, I doubted that a ride inside would be particularly comfortable for someone accustomed to twenty first century transportation, much less the usual standard found on Coruscant or another civilized world.

"That's good to hear." The old woman sounded rather pleased.

"However, my agreement means nothing right now and you know it very well. Coincidentally, I do have a few terms too."

"Of course you do." Olena had a good pazaak face when she wanted to. "However, any agreement my House reaches with the King, would last as long as your father is on the throne. All I want is to ensure that we won't be forgotten once you're the King, Your Highness."

"I'm sure that Margaery won't let my memory go." I smiled.

"I'll do my best to keep you on your toes, my prince."

"I won't forget my friends once I ascend to the Iron Throne, you have my word on that, Lady Olena, Margaery. That said, I would appreciate the Tyrels assistance in a few ventures both before and after I become King."

"I'm all ears. I've heard some rather interesting things about your lucrative exploits lately, Durran." Olena perked up.

Ah. Dealing with an Aristocrat who wasn't afraid to dirty her hands with something as low as trade and manufacture of something besides arms… Granted, the Lannisters had no such qualms, the same went for a few other noble families, but for a lot of the Lords in Westeros that wasn't the case. Kriffing feudalism.

"Let's go with the short term issues first. I would appreciate any assistance in making a trade deal with Old Town. Considering that your family had been overseeing the area for practically forever, any good word you put for me and my interest would have a lot of weight."

"You want to print books for them among other things." Olena nodded. "I'm sure the Maesters would love the idea of books being made so much easier, though they would prefer to do it themselves."

"True. The Citadel, Old Town and the Faith had a monopoly on bookmaking until recently. I made a deal with my good friend the Chief Septon and I don't foresee problems on that front. The Maesters on the other hand, might be reluctant to deal with another competitor and try getting into printing themselves. I would prefer to avoid that."

"And keep a monopoly."

"For as long as it lasts. It won't be hard for the Maesters to make their own printing presses." I shrugged. "I can offer them reasonably cheap and plentiful paper in return of letting my people operate any printing presses set up in the Citadel and Old Town… for a minor fee of course."

The old woman chuckled. "They won't like that."

"I have a few ideas that might sweeten the deal. I'm confident that with your backing we can achieve a mutually profitable compromise."

"I'll see what I can do. I'll sent a few ravens once we arrive and set up in the Red Keep. What else do you desire, Duran?"

"A backing for a rather controversial idea I have. It has come to my attention that traveling along the King's Road is less safe, especially for merchants than desirable. And that's during peace time. Every time a couple of Lords decide to spat and rattle sabers, the situation gets worse."

"An unfortunate stare of affairs, though it's nothing new." Olena shrugged.

"I have the idea to commission the creation of a small armed force, let's call them the Rangers, to police the Kings road and deal with any bandits who dare prey on merchants. In the long term, they are likely to pay for themselves in the taxes the Crown will gain from merchants who aren't robbed blind."

"Ah. Prudent idea. However, a lot of Lords would see it as trampling on their rights."

"That's why I would want to try the idea first in the Crownlands and the Reach. With me being the Crown Prince and with the backing of the Tyrels it could work if presented properly to the Lords whose lands are crossed by the road."

"It's certainly possible. You'll have to speak with a lot of lords to smooth things with them."

"And a lot of Lords, especially from the Reach would be attending a wedding between the Rose of Highgarden," I smiled at Margaery, "and myself. That would be a good time to talk with them. I'll be also reassure them about my full support for the Tyrells as the Wardens of the South and Lords Paramount of the Reach now and forever."

"I see. I'll have to speak with Mace. My son will be behind the idea if it's presented in a way that he'll like."

"That's good to hear. The next topic I would like to discuss concerns us all, though it's much bigger problem for the Reach than some other parts of Westeros. Our Ironborn friends. They have been making trouble every few decades at best, not to mention the piracy in which the Iron fleet partakes. I don't care when they're attacking shipping from Essos, especially that belonging to the slaver cities. However, they hit our own merchants even more often and that's not a state of affairs that I'm willing to tolerate once I'm King."

Olena Redwyne gave me a smile that simply didn't belong on a "sweet" old lady's face.

"Oh, Durran. That's an idea that would see most of the Reach backing you."

"Not just the Reach. I'll want at least the Lannisters and the North aboard for permanently dealing with that problem and that would take a lot of doing and negotiations."

"You mean doing so without giving even more power and concessions to Tywin."

"He's close to owning the Iron Throne as it is. That's a another thing I would love to change."

"We have an understanding then. Is that all?"

"A few things might crop up later, but I can assure you they won't be affecting the Reach in an adverse fashion. One thing I believe I can help happen sooner is inducting Loras in the Kingsguard as soon as possible. To be frank, the only people in there I would trust with Margaery's well being are Ser Oakheart, who's been watching my back since I was a toddler and Ser Selmy. Most of the rest are either less than competent or my mother's creatures and Cersei won't be liking a marriage between myself and anyone who isn't from the Westerlands."

"You don't mean..." Margaery couldn't help herself.

"Mother's a Lannister and they would do anything to keep their claws in the Iron Throne. A match between the two of us is probably the greatest threat for their power ever since Cersei married my father."

"It's the Game of Thrones dear. It was to be expected. You two marrying would cement the dynasty's power, that much is true. It's also going to break the Lannister's hold over the throne if Durran so wishes."

"I won't be a pawn for my grandfather." It was left unsaid that I wouldn't be one for the Tyrells even if Margaery might have a lot of influence over policy if she played her cards right. Though that remained to be seen.


	14. Chapter 4 Interlude and Part 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Chapter 4: Of political marriages and other shenanigans**

**=ASOSAT=**

**Interlude: Conspiracy theory**

**Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

It was one of the few chambers that lacked secret passages allowing someone to listen in to a conversation. Besides, it was lavishly furnished as it befitted a room in the royal residence. So it wasn't a surprise that both its occupants knew about that little feature.

For one of them, that was a matter of course. After all, he was the Master of Whispers and it was his job to know of such things. The other, well that was a bit more surprising. He had spent a lot of gold and time ensuring that he would know where in the Red keep it was actually safe to talk, even if he preferred to conduct his more sensitive business in one of his brothels – it was much safer and fun that way.

Varys closed the door after making sure that the corridor behind them was empty, while Baelish broke the seal over a bottle of the finest Arbor Red and started pouring it in silver goblets.

"You wanted to talk." The Mockingbird addressed his rival.

"It's an interesting night." The eunuch sighed and sat on a high, padded chair, then leaned on the round oaken table.

"How so? I thought that the furor after what happened on the tourney started dying down."

"Durran's men are mopping up what's left from the unreliable Gold Cloaks as we speak." Varys sighed.

Baelish froze, with a goblet halfway to his mouth. He blinked in confusion for a moment, then his mind kicked back in gear. "I see. So the Prince isn't simply playing at soldiers."

"Isn't it interesting – all he's done in the past few months." Varys smiled gently. "It's almost unbelievable that a lad of fifteen namedays could achieve so much in so little time. Not to mention how lucky he was that Joffrey got sick in the North."

"Fortunate indeed." The Mockingbird sipped his wine and nodded.

It wasn't like any of them believed in luck. To be more precise, neither of them believed in good luck, unless one made it for himself. Unfortunate things tended to happen by themselves, quite often too. Such was the world they were living in.

Baelish frowned. His was thinking about everything that had happened ever since Arryn's "mysterious" death. The sudden change in Durran who ever since then appeared content with his lot of life – either becoming a heir to a Stormlands Lordship, a successor of Tywin Lannister as rumor had it or even a possible Lord Paramount of the Stormlands if Robert decided to snub both his brothers.

The boy hadn't appeared to care which one of those choices would be made for him. He didn't appear to have much ambition either.

That had changed radically after Arryn's death. In a mere month, Durran had build himself a rather lucrative industry with a lot of room for expansion and smoothed things with most people who were expected to suffer from the success of his printing press business. Besides, neither Baelish or Varys were blind or dumb. They knew when someone was busy building a spy network in their city.

That was given – everyone of note or in position to know things in King's Landing either worked for with them or was under the observation of their agents. They naturally – separately and covertly – moved against the budging network even before they knew that Durran was behind it…

That wasn't as successful as they hoped. Oh, there had been a string of unresolved murders and quietly taken bribes, but that didn't appear to stop Durran's men from spreading. What's more – they gave as good as they got on the bloodier side of the business.

It was quite concerning. A novice simply couldn't meet with such a success when just entering the shadow side of King's Landing.

The conclusion was obvious.

"The lad has a backer. Someone competent." Varys stated.

"I've been pondering the same. Who do you think? Surely not Stannis. The man is too inflexible for this sort of shadow games." Baelish sighed.

"You know my suspicions, I'm sure."

The Mockingbird got a far away look. "Tywin." He stated.

"That's bad enough, isn't it? But this whole marriage idea..."

"It's a sham." The Master of Coin chuckled and sipped his wine. It was some of his favorite. "We both know, who's the most likely bride."

"No one can give more to the Lannisters and Baratheons than the Rose." The eunuch nodded, while staring in his cup.

He hadn't touched the wine.

"Such a match would cement the dynasty." Baelish smiled. "No one could conceivably challenge an alliance between those three kingdoms and you must throw the North and Vale with them too."

"Not necessary as you well know." Varys gave his rival a knowing smile.

"Well yes." Baelish smiled. "There would be a lot of people, ambitious people, who would do their best to derail such a marriage. Once it's sealed it would dash all their hopes."

"True, that." Varys nodded and took a tiny sip from his goblet. It was little more than wetting his lips. "Where does that leave two honest servants of the crown like us?" The Spymaster sighed.

**=ASOSAT=**

That night, while Durran was recuperating under his mothers care and his men were finishing dealing with the Gold Cloaks, more than a few ravens left the Red Keep. They all were addressed to certain Lords all over the South, who were displeased by the status quo for one reason or another. Men harboring either ambitions in their hearts or still faithful to the Dragon.

Others went to men who wanted to see their daughters claiming the tittle of Queen, who hadn't been called to the capital by the Baratheon for that very purpose.

In the Stormlands, the ravens homed on Lords who resented that the Lord Paramountcy question hadn't been resolved since the Rebellion. Nobles who were eagerly looking at Storm's End and hoped to claim it as their own. That wasn't helped that their loyalties were divided between four Baratheons and more than a few powerful local Lords.

In the Reach, the ravens went to the powerful people who resented the grip, which the Tyrells had over them. Some like the Florents and Tarly had reasons to dislike their Lord Paramount, believing that they would do much better job of it… not without reason too. What made that case even more interesting is that even at the best of times, the Tyrells could count as reliable no more than half of the Reach's strength. If Margaery became Queen, their position would be secured for a long, long time… and that was a state of affairs a lot of powerful vassals would not want to see come true.

A few Ravens went to the Vale, aimed at Lady Arryn and a few of the more ambitious Lords, who were eying the newly widowed woman as an opportunity to raise their stations.

Others flew to a handful of Lords in the Riverlands, especially to the Lord of the Twins. There were a few loyalists remaining in there as well.

None of those people would like to see the Lion of the West strengthening his grasp over the Iron Throne and the messages sent by friends in King's Landing implied that Durran was executing his grandfather's plans.

Finally, there were ravens stretching their wings towards Dorne. They carried the same message with a twist… to plan an idea – that the whole mess with the Mountain was a set-up to silence Tywin's bannermen and ensure that Tywin would never be really implicated or punished for the death of Ellia and her children.

Misdirection, betrayal and bloody knives in the night. Such is the Game of Thrones.

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 3: Meet the future in-laws…**

**Small Council Chambers**

**Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

"That's boring stuff..." Robert grumbled quietly.

"It's unfortunate that the Ironborn aren't making rebellious noises. That would put you in a good mood father. I'm sure that Lord Tyrell would love to remove that particular thorn in the Reach's side once and for all if they give us a reason to." I smiled.

Ned frowned my way. Obviously he didn't relish invading those islands for a second time in his life.

Mace on the other hand gave me a long look, then laughed.

"You're your father's son, aren't you, Your Highness?"

"Despite my hair color, the Baratheon blood in me is strong." I shrugged.

That was something I heralded every time I had the opportunity to. Repeat a lie loud enough, for long enough and it could become the truth anyone would believe. Besides, for all I knew, Robert might actually be Durran's father. Unless the local witchcraft or the Force were involved, genetics were funny that way.

At least I didn't have Joff's reputation working against me. If I ended in his body I would have had my hands full with doing damage control instead of working for a better future – for myself and mine of course.

"That's my son, all right!" Robert's voice boomed in the small chambers.

I grinned at him and nodded.

"As the King said, you have our reassurances about keeping both the Wardenship and Paramountcy in your family, Lord Tyrell." Eddard spoke tiredly. The whole hand job was running him ragged. Considering that he had to look after the realm while Robert had fun, at least most of the time, wasn't doing the Northman any favors. At least after my encounter with the Mountain I had persuaded Robert to start training a bit by wanting to spar with him… He actually had his faculties at the time and reached the insightful conclusion that I could simply dance around him until he was wiped out – something that would take mere minutes at best – and wind easily.

Hopefully, that would help keep him alive for a bit longer and give me more time to built my influence and reliable forces. I wasn't naive enough to expect everything to go without a hitch when the time for the changing of the guard came.

Besides, some bonding by bashing each other with training weapons, combined with my other exploits could help him believe that I was actually his son if someone started heralding about Cersei and Jamie's indiscretions. With my luck, someone was going to catch those two idiots on of these days and all hell was going to break lose.

That's why I was in this horsetrading session, hoping to ensure a marriage with Margaery ASAP. Once we had a heir, the Reach would be much more solid backers. Besides, once Margaery was a Queen, the Tyrells wouldn't care about my real parentage and any truths would be labeled as slanderous rumors by ill wishers.

However, all that didn't mean that we were going to give the Tyrells everything they wanted without a lot of bargaining and reaching a good deal for ourselves. Besides, I had to meet the other suitable ladies first, or I risked snubbing some powerful nobles. Not a good thing in the long term. They tended to remember such things.

Robert sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Where are we anyway?"

Ned looked at his friend and kept his expressionless mask as he spoke.

"The Crown guarantees all privileges and titles of House Tyrell as well as a prompt response to any reaving from the Ironborn. Loras is to be inducted as a Kingsguard once we've done with the negotiations an a wedding date is set. A permanent place of the small council, held by either yourself or your heir, Willas. A Tax adjustment to be negotiated latter, when the Master of Coin is present."

"That's simply prudent considering that soon we'll be family." Mace smiled.

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. The man looked simply ridiculous with his green, supposedly fashionable clothes, red face, thin mustache and beard.

At least he wasn't sleeping with anything female in sight.

On the other hand, I've seen Nobles wearing even more ridiculous clothes back during my days in the Empire.

"We've all agreed on these points. The new trading agreements between the Reach, Crownlands, Stormlands and the North are next on the agenda, aren't they?" I asked, redirecting Robert's attention my way.

"Ah. Copper pinching nonsense again. I've heard that you've become quite good with that, son. So you and my Hand can deal with this. You're speaking with my voice." Robert waved at us and stumbled out of the room.

Relatives. Westerosi brand – I already wanted to kill most of them with a few notable exceptions. On days like these, Robert was rather high on that list too.

I looked at Ned and nodded. "My Lord Hand, what's your thought on the matter?"

I didn't need the Force to know that right now he wanted to bash his head on the table – right after strangling Robert.

At least Mace was enjoying himself. I looked at the man. On second thought he probably wanted to get out of here too, but his determination to see Margaery as the future Queen kept his behind firmly planted in the chair.

"With a long winter approaching..." Ned spoke.

**=ASOSAT=**

**The Gardens**

**Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

Much latter that day, I was siting on a table next to Margaery, while Cersei and Olena as well as a few of their ladies-in-waiting or whatever they were called today were around us.

Chaperoning for the win.

The negotiation with Mace failed to turn into an outright disaster, despite Robert getting out for a drink and bit of fun with the nearest busty servant, though I didn't have so high expectations for this meeting.

Olena was playing up her old frail woman role, trying to appear as a harmless grandmother. I don't think anyone on the table bought the act, though that didn't stop her from having fun with it. Cersei on the other hand was wearing one of her best red gowns, trying to appear every inch the Queen she was. I might have fallen for it if I didn't know better. After all, this was her preferred battlefield, besides the bedchambers I mean.

Margaery on the other hand… Well… She looked fucking awesome. With the sun behind us, her light summer dress was all but transparent, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. That, combined with my raging hormones, made it hard to concentrate and appear as anything but lust stricken puppy.

"Lady Margaery..." Cersei's all too sweet voice terminated my staring. I've heard that tone of voice many times before and not only from her. Oh, my. She was jealous. I glanced between the two women and had to hid a smirk. In a few years, Margaery would be the more beautiful of the two, though for the time being, Cersei did have a mature kind of charm that left behind my prospective bride.

That had to grate. For a long time, Cersei had been heralded as the most beautiful woman in Westeros… probably by bards she had paid but I digress.

"How do you like King's Landing? Would you enjoy it being you new home?" 'Mother' continued.

Margaery beamed at her. "It's certainly different. For example I quite enjoy the Red Keep and the gardens. However, I'll need to see more of the city to tell either way."

"That can be arranged." Cersei beamed.

Note to self. If Margaery leaves the keep, have at least a few of my men shadowing her to make sure no "accidents" happen. I had no illusions that Cersei wanted me to marry a proper Westerlands Lady and she would go to great lengths to achieve that. I thought about confronting her, though that would have sent her directly in Jamie's hands to find solace and fuck, so that idea was dashed almost immediately.

Those two were the greatest danger for me in the short term – if, or rather when they were finally caught fucking, I would be in a heap of trouble. I needed to have my power base and position secure before that happened or even better, find a way to separate them for the time being.

Or kill them. That was always in the cards. After the stunt with Bran I was ready to go ahead with my contingency plans then and there. I warned the idiots but they just had to go for a quick fuck, damn them both.

"I would love that."

"Perhaps I could show you around the city one of these days?" I smiled at Margaery.

She beamed at me, making my heart race.

Damn it, I really didn't know her after she grew up. I had no reason to act as a love struck puppy damn it!

That didn't stop me from feeling good about seeing her smile at me.

By the way she looked at me, I knew that Margaery was aware how exactly she affected me and she was tickled pink about it, the little minx.

"I would love that, Your Highness. It would be a honor." She simpered, like a proper Lady, breaking the spell.

Did I mention that I never had interest in proper westerosi ladies besides bedding them? At least I knew that Margaery had much more to her beside this front she was showing Cersei and the noble ladies around us.

Marrek would be laughing his ass off if he could see me now. The bastard was dealing with the fun stuff – shaping up the Gold Cloaks.

"That's a splendid idea!" Olena beamed.

I wondered if she had given Margaery instructions to get me into bed and fuck my brains out ASAP to all but guarantee the wedding happening. Not that I had anything against that idea – I was wondering if I could get away with doing that anyway.

"That might be for the best. There are some less than reputable districts you might want to avoid." Cersei nodded. "We wouldn't like for anything to happen while you're out exploring."

And from here on, the tea party was going to go downhill. I just knew it.

I discreetly took a hold of Margaery's hand and squeezed. First I liked the contact a lot. Second, it helped me from strangling Cersei as I wanted to do with Robert earlier.


	15. Interlude: Of Gods and Magic

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**=ASOSAT=**

**Interlude: Old magic**

**Ancient cave complex**

**Somewhere beyond The Wall**

After decades of boredom and pain, the waiting was approaching its end. He could feel it in his bones – literally. The tree roots buried in his flesh was beginning to feed him a bit more power that strictly needed to survive in his current state.

Magic was about to return.

So his visions told him.

The handful of beings, who seldom kept him company agreed with the notion. The glamors making them appear as harmless children were strengthening, becoming more solid.

Bloodraven knew that soon enough even he won't be able to tell the difference, even if he knew better.

For months all was well. Everything was going according to plan – pieces being set up across two continents, ready to play their part in the grand scheme of things. Further to the North, the Others were stirring, with a few of their numbers already awake and cautiously moving towards the Wall.

One of the last few Targaryen left alive, smiled. It wouldn't be long now.

When three Children of the Forest came into his "sanctuary", he was surprised.

He could feel it – they were furious.

"_The pact is broken." _One hissed. It appeared to be a young, cute blond girl, yet the blazing red-tinted eyes and the snarl on it's face told the truth.

"_A wielder has appeared." _Added another – this time it was a boy with pale, almost Valyrian hair.

"_The future is in motion." _Chorused the third – a raven haired girl, with Stark features.

"All I've seen is as it should be." Bloodraven frowned. As far as he knew, no one to the south of here could affect the Pact even if they tried. Not without very powerful magic, that was simply missing from the world.

"_There are ripples." _Sang the blond.

"_The future changes." _The boy glared at the human.

"_A wielder has touched the cursed power." _Added the Stark look-alike.

"Cursed power?" The former Watch commander frowned. "I don't understand."

The trio glared at him. Their red eyes looked straight into his shivered soul.

"_Watch. See. The Abominations."_

_Saw he did. There was a man in black robes that caught the starlight as if made of silk. His face was hidden by shadows under a large hood, though Bloodraven could make two shining yellow eyes. There were three Children of the Forest facing him. _

"_Leave. This is no place for men." The one in the middle snapped at the interloper. _

_Bloodraven could feel magic coiling around the trio, ready to strike at a moment's notice. More arcane power than currently existed in the world._

"_You dare bar my way?" There was amusement in the strangely accented voice._

_The leader frowned and tilted his head. Roots exploded all around the man, but not bellow him and shot faster than a speeding arrow. _

_All of them shattered a meter away from their targets._

_That gave Bloodraven pause. He knew those roots. They were the same buried in his flesh. Stone and steel were no match for their magic even as weakened as it was today._

"_That's interesting trick. You'll be useful." The hooded man sounded unconcerned. _

_Bloodraven could feel the magic becoming oppressive as the Children gathered it around them. The surrounded forest started whispering. Woods were creaking, straining against the soil. _

"_You've broken the pact. You're ours now." The trio chorused. _

"_You've got that wrong, fools." _

_The man raised a hand._

_More, much thicker and stronger roots and branches shot his way. _

_The human made a dismissive gesture and the avalanche of enhanced bark shattered and flew away as if thrown by a hurricane wind. _

_The Children on the flanks moved, sending spheres of liquid fire and spears of ice at the interloper. _

_He laughed in delight as the earth around him tore apart and jumped to intercept the attack._

_"My turn." He pointed an outstretched palm at the wardens barring his way. A torrent of sickly looking purple lighting flowed from his fingers. Roots sprang to life in a futile attempt to bar the attack. They lasted a mere second before shattering and burning. _

_Bloodraven could feel the trees they belonged to moan in pain. _

_The Children scattered, but the girl on the left, who was a mirror image of his visitor, wasn't fast enough. The lighting clipped her shoulder and sent her sprawling on the ground. Screaming as if she was worked over on a torture rack. _

_The other girl snarled in fury and sent a lance of liquid fire at the man. He raised a hand and the attack flew apart as it hit an invisible shield. Then the girl was pulled up and started clawing at her throat as the air was chocked out of her lungs. _

_The boy roared in rage and sprang forward. The forest itself followed, surrounding him in a wall of branches and roots – all aiming at the intruder. _

_The man pulled his right hand from his robes. It was holding a small cylinder. Suddenly a crimson blade sprang to life from the device._

"_I think I'll keep you. You'll be nice to experiment on." The man laughed and charged at the thorny whirlwind heading his way. _

The vision ended, leaving Bloodraven panting for breath.

"_There's another who can touch the cursed power." _The boy glared.

"_In the south." _The girls chorused.

"_He needs to die." _They spoke as one.

**=ASOSAT=**

**Interlude: Gods of Light and Death**

**Melisandre's chambers**

**Dragonstone**

She was kneeling on the warm, rough floor. Her front was bathed in warmth from the blazing fireplace. Sparks were flying all around her, gently brushing her naked skin and silk night robe, yet leaving no mark.

As it should be. She was Melisandre, High Priestess of R'hlor! The fire was her blessing, the only lover she would be ever faithful to.

"Lord of Light! Come to me in this hour of darkness!" The Priestess chanted. "Give me Light! Show me the path!"

The flames roared and took the shape of a bald, regal looking man. His body was made of lava, yet it appeared to have the consistency of flesh.

"_**My faithful." **_The voice R'hlor echoed around the room. **_"You've seen the face of Darkness. An ancient enemy rises again." _**

"Show me the path! I'll do anything to follow your will!" Melisandre shouted in ecstasy.

She was truly blessed! This was the first time in living memory when the Lord of Light deigned to speak with one of his followers outside of visions!

"_**Go deep, bellow stone and water, through darkness until you reach the light. My fires would show you the way. There's a gift waiting for you, my most faithful. Lead Azoi Ahai there and you all shall have my blessing." **_

"I'm humbled, my Lord! I'm not worthy." Melisandre mumbled, shocked by her God's words.

"_**The night is dark..." **_The god paused.

"And full of terrors!" Melisandre exclaimed.

"_**Darkness has come to Planetos, my faithful. Prepare. Bide your time. Strike when the time is right. The stars shall bleed, seas shall freeze. The dead shall rise in the North, yet another, even older, cursed power has awoken. The darkness from the stars is back, gathering its strength."**_

"I shall do your bidding, my Lord!"

"_**Go down through the darkness. Find the burning alter. As has it been written so it shall happen! A warrior shall draw the burning sword from the fire. As it was foretold so mote it be!" **_

The light become blinding, scalding.

_And she saw. Hundreds, thousands worshipers of R'hlor were marching through the desert, ready to do battle. They were met by lines upon lines of men in black uniforms, arrayed in cold, precise formations. They were gathered under strange flags – something resembling a an irregular circle, embroidered on a deep blue fabric._

_She could feel it. The very symbol reeked of darkness. It was suffocating the light of the noon sun that shone upon it. _

"_Look at them!" A man in midnight black armor stood atop a drestier and pointed at the marching faithful. "Madmen and sorcerers worshiping an abomination. LOOK AT THEM come! You know them! The same bastards who would burn everything you cherish and laugh at the dying screams of your loved ones! It ends today! These are the last ones! The faith of R'hlor dies with them! First rank step forward and kneel! Take aim!"_

_The dark worshipers shouldered strange, hollow spears. _

_The world ended with thunder and dark, twisted flames. _

_Melisandre screamed._

_This had to be a lie! It couldn't be! It simply couldn't!_

"_**Do you see, my faithful? Darkness comes to suffocate the Light. This will be the future unless my mortal followers do their duty. Both the Great Other and the Darkness are awakening. You destiny is to face and best them or the world would be cast in the long night." **_R'hlor's voice was gentle.

"I'll do anything, My LORD! I won't let that madness happen! I swear it!"

"_**I know, my most faithful. Find the Sword of Light and when the time comes, you'll have my blessing."**_

Melisandre was engulfed in the blazing light of her God and time stopped having any meaning. It embraced Melisandre, filling her with pure bliss.

Some time later, she awoke on the floor. The flames had died down to gentle fire, which kept her warm and comfortable.

A wicked smile appeared on her face.

"Robert Baratheon. Azor Ahai reborn, Warrior of Light." She whispered. The old prophecies were true! Her God confirmed it! He blessed her above all others by gracing her with his very presence!

Melisandre jumped up, revitalized by the power of the Light. She had to find the path down and lead Azoi Ahai to his destiny!

Her joyful laughter echoed through out Dragonstone.

**=ASOSAT=**

**The House of Black and White**

**Braavos**

Deep below the temple, carved into the very bedrock that laid under the sea was a chamber drowned in perpetual darkness. It has been there long before Braavos was founded and it was the reason why the House of Black and White was built on that specific place.

It was a sanctuary for a certain kind of worshipers, a temple for the God of Death.

It was a place of prayer. Of the odd ritual, which seldom required a sacrifice.

It was one of a few locations that were still bathed in a certain kind of power. Even an ordinary human could almost feel the Dark Side in there.

It was one of a handful location, where those blessed with a fraction of the true power of heir god could receive the occasional vision of the future.

Today was one of those rare events. A Faceless Man was kneeling in front of a statue of a hooded man, who was said to have been the manifestation of their God, wielding unstoppable power.

The assassin could tell that something was different today, on the last day of his vigil before leaving for Westeros.

The temple was much colder than usual – despite the darkness, he could see frostbite forming on the stone around him. The deep shadows surrounding him were strange. He could swear that he could see them move from time to time.

A feeling of foreboding was growing in his heart.

His head snapped to the right and his fingers closed around the empty space where he usually kept a dagger, just in case.

Someone had whispered next to him. A woman.

The Faceless Man sprang to his feet as he heard more and more whispers, yet he was alone in the temple.

He could feel power surging all around him, almost thick enough to make him choke. The assassin felt cold wing blowing through his flesh. His vision became foggy, he blinked to clear his eyes and _saw. _

_An ancient stone altar mad of black marble-like stone. It had cracked some time ago. He knew that the place had been left undisturbed a long, long time ago, yet there wasn't even a moth of dust he could see. _

_The altar was bare save for a pedestal flowing out of the stone. It held a cylinder a bit longer than a grown man's fist. _

_The vision shifted, pulling up – through stone and soil, until it passed through a lot of sand. _

_The Faceless Man found himself looking at an unfamiliar mountain range, close to a sea. _

The fog dispersed, leaving him back in the temple. He felt that the vision was important. That he had to locate that chamber, reach the altar and retrieve the cylinder.

The Assassin straightened. The God of Death had spoken. He had a task to complete, even if he didn't know where to start looking. He didn't even know if that desert was in Essos or somewhere else.


	16. Chapter 4 Part 4

**AN: This part hasn't been betaed yet.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Chapter 4: Of political marriages and other shenanigans**

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 4**

**The Crowned Stag Tavern**

**King's Landing**

"I needed that." I sighed in pleasure after downing a mug of cool ale.

"That bad?" Marek asked.

My right hand man sat across the table, drinking Dornish wine. First it was the Septons and maesters… One in particular I couldn't decide if he would be a major pain in the ass and useful asset or both… Then… I groaned.

"It was one of those days." I muttered and looked around. The upper floor of the tavern was lavishly furnished as befitting a prince's watering hole within the city. It was secure too – the "bouncers" were our people, former Stormlands bannermen who were getting a bit too old to ride around all year long and bash in skulls, but didn't feel like settling down quite yet. There was a surprising number of people like that, who were all too eager to do some light work for their Baratheon prince. They were as loyal as you could generally get in this kind of society.

I took a sip from my drink, lamenting that I was unlikely to taste Corellian Ale or other good stuff any time soon, though at least the local beer was drinkable. I placed my mug back on the long table we were sitting around and relaxed in my padded armchair. My sight danced around the few statues and stuffed animal heads decorating the walls. It was all for show of course – good to impress various nobles and wealthy merchants with how well off my enterprises were working out for me and my people.

"Why aren't you with a certain lady? Rumor has it that she's quite taken with you."

"Really? I can't tell how much it's the prospect of becoming a queen, training in politics by her grandmother…" I trailed off. "Things used to be simple, you know."

"Well, I used to be a bastard without good prospects, then I won a certain tournament and everything got much more complicated." Marek smirked. He took a long gulp of his wine. "You're to blame for both our fortunes. Misfortunes too." My friend grinned.

Well, he was more right than he suspected, that's for sure.

"Besides, what's the problem with your lady friend?" Marek grinned. "I'm well aware you know what to do with a woman..." He shook a head at the memory.

"Those were the days." I chuckled and thanked the Force that Durran hadn't caught all the STDs on the continent the few times he and Marek went drinking and whoring, before I ended up replacing him. "How's the guard shaping up?" I changed the topic. I didn't need another reminder of what my hormones were screaming about too. Being a randy teenager once again sucked goat balls.

"Decent-ish. We've been removing the death wood as fast as possible and now have about four hundred left in the city."

"That few?" I winced. There were thousands of Gold Cloaks before our little clean up.

"I ended up shipping another three hundred to the wall." Marek shook his head as if he still couldn't believe it. "I've seldom seen greater bunch of corruption and incompetence concentrated in one place. In our fucking capital no less."

"It's nothing like the stories, is it?" I chuckled. I had it on a good authority that whoever had been spared the misfortune of visiting the city simply knew that King's Landing was a great place with a lot of opportunities.

The latter was becoming true as I was doing my best to slowly industrialize the damn place, but let's be honest here – most of the place was a damn hellhole ripe for an epidemic.

"Anyway, when we finally cleaned up house, there were three hundred people left we could count on. A hundred or so decent new recruits with experience. There are couple of hundred more, who can be useful once we train them properly and break them off some bad habits. That's it, Durran. I sent the worst to the wall or the dungeons, but I had to kick out a lot of useless louts." Marrek spoke morosely.

"Start advertising that there are a lot of open spots for young lads who are willing to train hard. There are hundreds of thousands people in this city. You'll have to train them from scratch, but I think you'll find enough willing to try."

"Warm bed and three good meals a day, besides the odd stag as pay? I think we'll get enough volunteers. Training them will take time and they will be greener than grass." Marrek warned.

"Can't be helped. Just make sure that they're people who will work for us, not for the first bastard who tries to buy them."

"I'll be doing my best. You know that there will be some rotten apples no matter what we do, right?"

"Unfortunately." I finished my ale. "I don't expect miracles, my friend. Just that you continue being your very effective self."

"Thanks. I think. I know what's the reward of a job well done, you know." Marrek quipped.

"Well, if you insist I'll find you something harder to do so you won't get bored."

"I'll pass. What were you up to today?"

I grabbed the jug with ale and filled up my mug. My mind flew back to my first meeting for the day.

**=ASOST=**

**Great Sept**

**King's Landing**

I was starting to hate churchmen. Maesters too, and right now I was meeting both.

Pycelle had somehow crawled all the way here along with a pair of new arrivals from Old Town. There were three Septons too and all of them were giving me various interesting looks from their places around the round table we were sitting at. From greed, disbelief all the way to admiration.

"Are you sure, Your Highness?" Pycelle asked in a weak voice. He sounded quite ill.

"I think it's a splendid idea!" Septon Felix beamed. He was quite the large man, though in contrast to the Great Septon, there was a lot of muscle I could see under his robes, even if he was slowly turning into a large ball of fat. Just like father… Robert I mean.

Durran's memories were almost completely integrated with mine by this point and at times was a bit hard to distinguish between them when I didn't pay attention. It was great for keeping with my role as the Crown Prince who suddenly found his ambition, though it was a disconcerting feeling… Just the last few times something like that happened to me.

Considering that this wasn't something I could do anything about, I just pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind and continued paying attention to the matter at hand. Felix rubbed his thick brown, though graying beard, and gave me a nod of approval.

On the other hand, Septon Joakim looked dubious. The way I understand it, he was in charge of making sure that all new texts written about the Faith reflected the proper doctrine. The big question was if Joakim was a true believer or someone placed in the position to serve the men running the Faith of the Seven in Westeros so he wouldn't rock the boat. Figuring that out would help me maneuver him towards my desired goals.

"What you suggest, Your Highness, sounds great." Joakim's expression contradicted his words. "However, making sure that all those new books don't have any doctrinal mistakes or aren't written in a way that can confuse them on important points… We can't risk people's souls by doing anything hasty."

He was choosing his words well. I couldn't tell if he was against the idea because it might bury him and his people in work, because he wanted a bribe or if he was truly concerned with saving people's souls. I examined the thin, stick like man. He was quite different from most Septons I've seen. No expensive clothes, no visible jewels or excessive overweight.

Yet, that by itself didn't mean that Joakim was the local equivalent of a true believer.

I had to fight a frown from appearing on my face. When I had full access to the Force, dealing with such matters was much easier. While just mind tricking people left and right was often counterproductive, the insight that my power gave me was incredible in negotiations. With just the trickle I was receiving right now, correctly sensing people's emotions, especially when they weren't broadcasting their feelings was almost impossible, at least without spending a lot of time around them.

"What exactly is your concern, Septon Joakim?" I asked politely.

"Saving people's souls of course! We can't expect dim peasants to read books on the Faith and get everything right!" He exclaimed.

Oh, my. Was that bigotry mixed with true belief? Dealing with Joakim might prove to be harder than anticipated.

"Well, that's why simple books can never replace a Septon or a Septa!" I declared. Let's not even insinuate that something that I might do might make them obsolete. There were few better ways to win the Faith as an enemy. "Besides, eventually they won't be as dim as right now. After all, in order to better spread the Faith through books, people would need to read." I turned my attention to the Maesters.

"Your school idea." Pycelle groaned. "It's good… as an idea. Commendable even."

The other Maesters nodded vigorously.

"However, there are some practical problems, you might not be aware of." He continued.

"Of course there are! There's a reason why I requested this meeting with you all!" I waved my hands at the gathered men. "Esteemed people of Faith, some of the best Maesters the Citadel has." I nodded at the two groups.

"We all know that there are a lot of places within the Seven Kingdoms, where people pay the Faith lip service at best."

"Or they're heatens!" Joakim growled.

"Or that." I nodded. "Thanks to my printing press we all are offered some opportunities."

"Please, do tell." Felix gave me an indulgent smile.

"We all have certain problems and now some new solutions. The Faith," I nodded at the Septons, "Needs to save as much souls as possible."

I got a three grim nods. The last Septon, Trant, had been quiet so far. He was a tall balding man with the build of a former soldier. His missing left arm made his former career almost a certainty.

"The Citadel, is dedicated to spreading and preserving knowledge." Killing dragons and eradicating magic too, but that wasn't the time and place for this conversation.

"All very proper and commendable pursuits, which unfortunately have many obstacles in front of them."

"True enough." Trant spoke for the first time. His voice had a raspy quality to it, signifying a possible nasty lung wound in his past. "What are your problems, Your Highness and how do they mesh with ours?"

"Very good question." I gave a respective nod to the man. "My biggest problem is that the realm is under crippling debt, one that I'll have to repay once I'm King. In order to do that, lately I've been doing my best to earn golden dragons and make the realm more prosperous in the process."

"How is that relevant?" Joakim asked.

"Very." Felix gave a long suffered look to his colleague.

Trouble in paradise, eh? It was something to keep in mind.

"I have a printing business. It needs to grow and earn more money so one day I don't have to sell my throne to the Iron Bank or my grandfather."

Most of the people in the room winced as I put it so bluntly. "One of the best ways to do that, is to have more people who can read. It would be even better if they could afford books, but that would take a lot more time and effort."

"That's why you want to sponsor schools in King's Landing." Maester Alex, the tallest of the new arrivals nodded.

"Among other things. Doing so will have a lot of long term benefits. More potential Maester candidates, more people suitable for various offices working for the Crown or as some other trades."

"Many smallfolk won't benefit from learning to read. It would be a waste of time." Joakim grunted.

"For some, that's true." I nodded. "For others, not so much. Besides, I personally see it as a benefit. Good for the soul. After all, the first thins that will be printed in a real bulk will be things that would strengthen their faith." I smiled.

Joakim muttered something too quietly for me to hear.

"We simply don't have the people to staff many schools. Just a few will be stretching us." Maester Garand, who was a head shorter but had much broader shoulders than his colleague, interjected.

"Unfortunate. On the other hand, the Maesters staffing the schools would be able to see who the brightest lads are and if they prove good enough offer them sponsorship in trying to become Maesters themselves. Eventually that would help bolster your ranks I think."

"Not a bad idea." Garand nodded. "However it will be and expensive one."

"Yes. Certainly in the short term. In the long, our efforts might pay for themselves, though that's a benefit we won't be enjoying soon. I'll offset some of the financial blow by providing a stipend for the best lads. Perhaps a minor discount in the books we'll be printing for the Citadel?" I smiled.

Damn it, I needed to find myself a good negotiator for these things. While I had few decent folks running my printing business, they weren't the most charismatics or frankly really a people persons. Besides, a few things could substitute for my rank in meetings like these.

"That's a good idea." Alex mussed. "After all, spreading knowledge is one of the reasons we exist. We can't really object to the opportunity to open schools."

Pycelle started looking greenish. All those changes weren't good for his health. "How many people do you expect would let their children attend?" He asked.

"A lot. We'll be providing a meal or two for the kids. That I recon would be a good incentive."

"Who would pay for that?" Felix asked.

"I will." Really, that was going to be a drop in the bucked compared to my other projects. Still, a major problem I had was the insufficient number of literate people for the Imperial bureaucracy I was planning to establish. Hell, it was hard to actually find enough such people for the various projects I had either running or in the planning stages. After all, I knew that I didn't have the knowledge to directly start an industrial revolution. However, I knew the basic principles, I knew in what directions to point people. The rest was a question of money and time.

Unfortunately, both of those resources were rather finite. I could afford to work on only a fraction of my lucrative ideas for the time being and my liquid assets were quickly drying up.

Kriff it, there were too many things to do and not enough time!

"What do you hope to accomplish?" Felix asked.

"As starters? A comprehensive book on the Faith for every family, one they can read of course. A more enlightened population in the long run, something that will help the Realm, facilitate the spread of knowledge and its preservation. A wealthier population, with more money to spend, which in turn will mean more revenue for the Kingdom as a whole."

"And your business interest in particular." Trant added.

"It's always good if my people have more money to spend. Yet, those are long term plans." I waved at the assembled people. "This is just a humble beginning for a long term plan." I smiled at them.

"How does that help the Faith? How does it help us save people's souls?" Joakim stared at me.

This was going to be tricky. I fully intended to make an use of the Seven, though I didn't want to make them too powerful. Not before I had enough people on the inside – a long term project in itself.

"I'll be supporting and increase of the numbers of Septons and Septas, building of new Septas around the Realm too. After all, it would be prudent for my people to have people of the Faith nearby to consult about any theological concerns."

"That's something we can get behind." Felix stated. "However, it won't be easy or simple."

"It would be very expensive too." Trant added.

"Yes. Something which will be a big problem given the financial straits of the Seven Kingdoms. To be fair, I do propose that we start small. As we help the Realm prosper, there will be more and more funds available for various projects..."

Of course, they weren't ready to agree just yet. There were still hours of haggling and horse trading to suffer through… and then I had a meeting with certain guild-masters.

This was going to be on long day.

I took a deep breath and continued the negotiations.


	17. Chapter 5 Parts 1&2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Chapter 5: The great game**

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 1**

**The Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

The Westerosi equivalent of a date was quite weird and awkward – there were so many damn chaperones that it wasn't even funny. First, there was a small flock made of ladies in waiting who were trailing us. Ser Oakheart, who despite his still bad arm was my preferred Kingsguard bodyguard, walked a few paces behind us, chatting quietly with Loras Tyrell.

There were at least a dozen Stormland and Reach guards in sight, with the odd man in Lannister red hanging out here or there just for color. It was like they didn't trust us or something…

I looked at Margaery, who was hanging on my left hand as if she wanted to keep it. She had looked amazing under the rays of the setting sung that bathed the gardens, which incidentally made her southern dress practically transparent. My teenage hormones surged again and I concluded that the powers that be – Cersei, Olena and even Stark, damn him, were bloody right in arranging us such a company, even if one of them would be tickled pink if we ended in bed anyway.

"How's Willas?" I asked.

We spent most of the "date" discussing safe topics and mostly catching up. Thanks to Durran's memories of friendship with the energetic little girl Margaery used to be, I found myself eager to learn how she had been. Her oldest brother too, who was a friend while I was fostered at the Reach for a few years.

"Could be better." Margaery frowned. "His leg has been given him trouble lately and the Maester hasn't been much help."

I winced. I was a spectator to that ill-fated tourney, where Oberyn expertly de-horsed the younger man. Willas fell hard and shattered his leg badly. I was no surprise that without at least an x-ray the Maester was only able to save the leg but couldn't restore it to anything resembling full functionality.

"I hope he'll be all right." I sighed. You'd think that after eight thousand years of civilization, Planetos would be in a better shape. "Did he stop brooding? His letters weren't clear on the subject."

"Not really." Margaery pouted cutely. "He's been spending most of his time in the library, trying to figure out what he wants to do."

For a noble raised in the warrior centric culture of Westeros, being crippled in any way was a big blow. It hit Willas especially hard, because he had aspirations of becoming one of the greatest knights in the land and from what I saw he actually had enough talent to make a credible attempt.

"What were you up to lately? You haven't written in months." Margaery gave me a disapproving look.

Oops? Really, after ending in Durran's body, writing letters to his associates had been very low on my priority list. Dealing with my family shenanigans took priority.

"There weren't any ravens available during my trip north and back. Sorry about that. And I have been rather preoccupied lately – I've been trying my best to learn how the kingdom is run and that's been taking all my energy."

"Just don't make a habit of ignoring me again." She gave me a wry smile. "What exactly are you busy with? I've heard certain rumors…" Margaery trailed off and gave me a pointed look.

"This and that. Good or bad rumors?"

"Depends on who tells them. Or who's listening. A prince dabbling in trade. That's quite the scandal in certain circles."

"Running a kingdom is expensive." I shrugged. "Despite what some people think, money doesn't just appear in the treasure when you need it."

Margaery hummed in response. It sent pleasant shivers up my arm.

Down, boy.

"You promised to show me the city." Margaery changed the topic.

"I'm actually not very keen on that. You won't like it."

"How so?"

"Margaery, there are a lot of things to be said about King's Landing and none are flattering. I'm afraid if you really see the place, you'll be running back to Highgarden and not looking back."

"That bad? What I saw when we arrived..." She trailed off and gave me a look demanding explanation.

"We did pass through the somewhat decent parts. Most is an utter mess that would require more money that can be spared any time soon to fix. It's nothing like Highgarden."

There were very good reasons why Durran wanted nothing to do with the capital and was tickled pink with the idea of marrying and being a lord anywhere but here.

For me on the other hand, that really wasn't an acceptable alternative if I wanted to live in some decently civilized place eventually, not to mention the scheduled undead invasion.

I returned my attention on Margaery, trying very hard to ignore my raging hormones. So far, she had been a breath of fresh air and nothing like one would expect of most Southern ladies. Given the way and environment they were raised in… Most of them weren't people I could see myself spending any time with or really tolerating. Fuck Westeros and its brand of medieval shit.

Margaery on the other hand… She was a bright girl, very intelligent, ambitious and not suffering of most pitfalls of the local nobility. I had to thank Olena for that.

Still, there was a certain awkwardness between us. When all was said and done, while I was stuck in a teenager's body, I was anything but. To be frank, if it wasn't for the political ramifications and bad blood, the only potential bride I would be considering would be the Martel's girl – Arriane. She at least was a grown woman and the Dornish sensibilities were the closest thing to more or less familiar culture on this backwards planet.

Given all the shenanigans and the game of thrones I was forced to play, that simply wasn't practical. I needed the reach to stabilize the kingdom for the coming invasion, which meant Margaery as a queen.

At least Margaery was smart and very, very cute.

Damn it, down boy!

**=ASOSAT=**

**Part 2**

**Durran's quarters**

**Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

I dragged myself to my bed and fell on the mattes without bothering to get out of clothes. All things considered, it was a decent day, until dinner that is. The snipping between Cersei, Olena and Margaery, while entertaining was ringing all kinds of alarm bells in my head. It was an even bet who was going to assassinate whom first – a headache I really didn't need right now, but I guess it couldn't be helped.

I froze when something familiar brushed my senses. It was like an echo of the Dark Side and it was right here, in the apartment with me. I surged up, rolling to land on my feet with my back to the wall next to the bed. My hand fell to my belt and gripped the dragon-bone hilt of my Valyrian steel dagger as my eyes started scanning the room.

"Good senses, your highness." A cheerful male voice came from the next room, which was incidentally connected to a terrace big enough for half a dozen people to comfortably have dinner.

"Who the hell are you and how the fuck did you get in here?!" I growled.

"This one is your humble servant." The man spoke in a manner that made me even more uneasy.

I was considering calling for the guards, when he spoke again.

"This one brings what you requested."

"And what is that?" I asked. My eyes narrowed in suspicion. If he was one of the faceless men bringing my egg, then I certainly needed to overhaul my security much sooner than anticipated and that was going to be a bitch to pull off.

A nondescript man, wearing the garb of a palace servant came into the room, carrying a large basked – its contents were covered by a large linen cloth. He gave me a smile that didn't touch his eye and revealed a quite large ellipsoid form that at first look appeared to be made of rock.

It was my egg or a decent imitation.

"Really? You bring it here? Do you expect that I'm carrying your payment on myself all the time?" I scoffed. Oh, the reason why the faceless broke into my quarters was clear – he was sending some kind of message and I doubted that he was just trying to intimidate me in order to ensure getting the promised gold.

"This one merely follows the contract. We expect the payment within two days."

"You'll have it." I shrugged. There was no point of antagonizing the assassin, when I wasn't sure if my body was up to the task of taking him on. I've improved since my return from the North, but there was just so much that could be done before I either finished growing up or found a way to increase my access to the Force.

Being so vulnerable wasn't something I was used to feeling since I became a real Sith.

"This one is glad." The man gave me a small bow and stepped back into the other room. For a second the feeling of the Dark Side was stronger, before it vanished completely.

I stared at the egg and relaxed a bit. I was reasonably sure that the man had left the same way he got in – something that needed looking into. Further, what was with the Force signature upon the assassin?! One thing was for certain, the Faceless got my attention and I doubted it was in a way they anticipated.

I shook my head and carefully stalked into the other room, looking for any nasty surprises or a sign of other uninvited guests. After a few minutes of futile examination, I did my best to block the widows and the way to the terrace, then get back into my bedroom and did the same with its doors. No one ever died from some healthy paranoia.

Once that I was reasonably secure from further uninvited guests, I returned my attention to the egg. Naturally I spent some time checking for traps and other unpleasant surprises, using a pair of leather gloves just in case.

Finally I took a hold of my dagger and placed a hand upon the egg itself, trying to feel something.

A smile tugged my lips. It was tiny, distant echo, but I got an impression of leathery wings flapping through the air. Of summer warmth and burning fires.

More important was the sense of power that I could perceive from the egg. This wasn't a fossil carrying a mere echo. It wasn't a stone replica, but the real thing.

That was the good news. Now how the kriff was I going to hatch it? Granted, burning certain traitors could do for a sacrifice, if it was even necessary, but what else? Did I need Valyrian blood? Could I cheat using the Force? Could I control a dragon once hatched?

Very good questions, however I lacked answers.

I frowned at the egg. It was a potential game-changer, though it was going to be a pain in the ass in certain respects. I really wasn't looking forward to explaining how I got myself a baby dragon, yet I needed the egg hatched as soon as possible.

I concentrated, forcing my will upon the tiny, tenuous connection I had with the Force. It took me more than a minute to gather a small amount of energy into the palm of my hand - something that should have taken a mere thought. Then I gently rubbed the top of the egg, guiding the energy to go in. It touched the dormant power contained within and it was absorbed.

For a moment nothing happened, then the egg grew warmer and I felt the energy within pulse once, releasing a wave of heat like a summer sun. It was so fast that I was unsure if I really felt it, yet I got the impression of something alive coming from within. Then the warmth drained into the egg and it grew cool just as it was in the beginning.

How curious. I needed to experiment some more, but first… I needed a decent hiding place, until I could bring the egg somewhere safer.


End file.
